


The Manipulation of Time and Matter

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Magic, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Horcruxes, Manipulation, Morally Grey Hermione, Oral Sex, Protective Severus Snape, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Time Travel, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Vaginal Sex, Voldemort isn't nice, dark rituals, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: “You might have something else I need,” he said slowly, a strange glitter in his eyes that she was sure didn’t bode well for herself.“What might that be? “ she asked shakily.“Are you a virgin, Miss?"





	1. Prologue: Lost in Time

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time, I’ve wanted to write a Severus - Hermione - Voldemort-triangle. The problem was, I didn’t think any of those two wizards would live by the adage ‘sharing is caring.’ This is my solution to the challenge this triangle poses. 
> 
> Warning: Voldemort is very much Voldemort, but there are moments with Tom in the story.  
> And, heed the tags. This story is dubcon.

Black eyes met hers, and Hermione bit her lip, trying to distract herself from rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms. The tall man towered over her, a polite, but haughty and disinterested expression on his face, like she was merely a silly, young girl, having taken a wrong turn in the streets and landed herself in the wrong area. 

“How may I help you, Miss?” he said, his voice a soft, silky smooth baritone that made shivers race down her spine. She knew, he was exactly fourteen days short of being thirty years old, but he looked somewhat younger. 

The shop around them was dim in the murky light of the December evening, but in the back, a pair of brass binoculars and a mirror caught the light from the street lights, glinting threateningly at her. 

Fortifying herself, she said, equally cold: “I require a repairment of my Time-Turner. It’s broken. I’ve heard you can do … un-authorized repairs.” 

“Oh.” His mouth quirked, like he was secretly amused. “Are you perhaps lost in time, Miss?” he said with a practised jest. 

She took a big breath. _This was it. Her mission was important, even more important than the risk of exposure. And at this point, she was desperate for a solution._

“Yes.” 

At that, his eyebrows shot up, and his face came alive, eyes glittering with a keen interest, lips parting slightly as he took a sharp breath. Cringing at her thoughts, she couldn’t help noticing: _He’s beautiful, for a monster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What sparked the story idea was a Mini Story Challenge on the Facebook page The Dark Lord's Poison. The prologue is basically the same as my contribution to the Mini Story. Thank you, page administrator Cherie Mast!


	2. Setting up the Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The good part, though, is that I have a plan. A dangerous one, albeit one that will give us a headstart which Tom cannot even imagine.” 
> 
> The Headmaster gave them a smile that surely was meant to be confident, but it was clear, he didn’t take success for granted.

“I’m troubled,” Albus Dumbledore admitted, looking as frail as every inch of his 115 years. 

Hermione looked at the Headmaster, really looked at him, maybe for the first time in her six years at Hogwarts. He had always seemed like a powerful, indomitable figure, for all his silly speeches and colourful robes, but now, he was merely a very old man with a blackened hand, sitting hunched in his chair, like he was freezing. 

He couldn’t be, though, because his office held at least 27 degrees celsius, due to the roaring fire in the great fireplace. It was freezing outside, with one of the cold spells March still could throw at them up here in the Scottish Highlands. On the walls around them in the Head’s office, past Headmasters were dozing in their portraits, but the people in the room certainly seemed alert enough. 

Harry and Ron sat on each side of her, flanked by Professors McGonagall and oddly enough, the dour and cranky Severus Snape. She knew, Harry found it hard to trust the man, though personally, she was convinced he was on their side. After all, Dumbledore trusted him, and she had an unfailingly respect for the old wizard. _Had, that was. The wizened old man in front of her certainly weren’t as awe-inspiring as he used to be._

The Headmaster sighed again, pushing his glasses up on his long, thin nose. “Harry, I know you’ve been telling Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley of our lessons. I feel my time is running short, and though it weren’t a part of my original plan, I feel I have to let Severus and Minerva in on the secret too, to ensure you get help in the future, after …” his voice cracked a little, “...after my passing.” 

The quick glance between Snape and the Headmaster didn’t go unobserved, though Hermione rather thought she was the only one to notice, wondering what that meant. It seemed significant for the two of them, but she couldn’t imagine what it could mean. 

“I haven’t come as far in my research as I would like, because of my … current ailment. Minerva, Severus, Tom has made Horcruxes. _Plural_. And I don’t know yet where they could be, though I now know what they are.” 

The gasp from McGonagall was audible, but Snape remained oddly impassive. Hermione wondered: _Did he know? Was he aware of the Horcruxes through his spying, or had Dumbledore trusted him with his secret? Though,_ she reasoned with herself, _Snape knew a lot about the Dark Arts. Maybe he had come to that conclusion by himself._

“The good part, though, is that I have a plan. A dangerous one, albeit one that will give us a headstart which Tom cannot even imagine.” The Headmaster gave them a smile that surely was meant to be confident, but it was clear, he didn’t take success for granted. 

She could almost see Harry’s ears pick up, and he had a hopeful look on his face. And then Dumbledore turned to her. 

“Miss Granger, this plan involves you.” 

Her eyebrows rose, as well as her inner Gryffindor spirit and that ambitious part of herself that always wanted to prove her worth. 

“Me?” she questioned, excitement pulsing through her, though joined with a good portion of healthy fear, while both McGonagall and Snape furrowed their brows. 

“We do not know where the Horcruxes are today,” Dumbledore continued, “but we do know exactly where they were in 1955. You, Miss Granger, have experience with Time-travel. You are a very adept witch, blessed with quick thinking, and I hear your wordless magic is coming along nicely. That is something you’ll need to go through with the plan. You will go back, place a Tracking spell on the Horcruxes, return to the future, and then activate the trace. Then we’ll know exactly _where_ to look for the Horcruxes today.” 

There was a brief silence, before everyone but her was talking at once. 

Harry mouthed a reverent: “Cool. Hermione, you can do this!” 

Ron yelled a panicked “No! Hermione, this is mental! You’re going to die, or age like forty years when you’re back!” 

McGonagall shrieked: “She’s a student, Albus! The danger, how can you even contemplate letting her do that!” 

Then Snape’s deep voice cut in, silencing them all: “Albus, this is madness. Surely, even you can see the catastrophic risks in sending an untrained girl so deep into the past? What if she stumbles over the Dark Lord himself? What if she doesn’t return? The whole timeline might be spun into chaos.” 

Dumbledore sighed again. “I am well aware of the possible dangers, trust me, but I have the utmost confidence in Miss Granger. She will perform the task admirably, I’m sure.” 

“Send someone else,” McGonagall demanded. “Send me!” 

The old wizard smiled at her, but shook his head. “It’s important that the person we send back isn’t yet born in 1955. Myself and you, Minerva, are therefore out of the question.” 

“What about me?” Professor Snape challenged, looking straight at Dumbledore. 

“No, Severus. This task requires more than power and magical skill. Most of all, it requires charming your way inside the house of an old, Pure-blood lady. I sincerely believe it’ll be easier for Miss Granger than for you, my friend.” 

Snape sneered, looking flustered and embarrassed: “And you think Granger has what it takes? 

Dumbledore replied gently: “Severus, you _will_ have a much harder time doing this than young Miss Granger.” 

“Someone else from the Order, then. It’s too dangerous for her!” Snape spat. 

Hermione found herself slightly surprised by his vehement defence of her safety. She wouldn’t have thought he’d care one jot if she died or not. Harry and Ron sat still, both gaping at the discussion. 

Dumbledore shrugged, and said delicately: “I’d rather not send Nymphadora, and Remus is not suited. The Weasley parents are too immersed in other tasks, and Bill and Fleur - well, they stick out too much, both of them. As for George and Fred … ” A small shudder went through all the three Professors, but Harry grinned widely at the thought. 

Privately, Hermione agreed with the teachers. _George and Fred would surely cause chaos, ripping time itself apart with some kind of silly trick._

Grumbling, Snape nodded, saying: “I agree, it wouldn’t be right for many of them, not now.” McGonagall nodded slowly too. 

Snape sighed. “I suspect Miss Granger knows next to nothing about Pure-Blood etiquette. How will she manage to convince this Miss Smith that she’s a proper, time-appropriate Pure-blooded witch?” 

“She can learn,” Dumbledore said callously. “We’ll have to prepare her for the mission anyway.” 

“What do I need to do, and what kind of objects are these Horcruxes?” Hermione asked. 

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled at her. “The first one is the easiest. After you’ve landed in 1955, you’ll use an international Portkey. The Portkey will transport you to the deep, Albanian forest. In a tree, you’ll find the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, and you’ll be placing the Tracking spell on it. Then you’ll return to London, pretending to be an insurance official from Gringotts, who’ll estimate the objects belonging to an old witch called Hepzibah Smith. She is the unlucky owner of two objects that will go on to become Horcruxes, namely Slytherin’s locket and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. You’ll do the same here, this time wordlessly and wandlessly, making sure Miss Smith doesn’t notice a thing. And then, you’ll return to our time, activate the Tracking spell, and we’ll know where those three Horcruxes are today.” 

“Deceptively simple,” Snape commented. “So why do I think it could be more complicated in real life?”

The Headmaster nodded, his face becoming somber. “That’s true, Severus. Miss Granger, you must know, if something goes wrong, no one will be able to help you from the future. You will have to solve all obstacles by yourself.” 

She nodded gravely, and Dumbledore’s face brightened. “Though, as I said, Miss Granger, I have the utmost confidence in you. You will solve this task, no matter any difficulties you may meet.” 

Snape rolled his eyes, before saying slowly: “Albus, though she may not meet the young Dark Lord, she might stumble across him. She should be … prepared for an eventual meeting.” 

McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape shared a quick, worried look. 

Shrilly, Hermione asked: “Why would I meet him? What do you mean?” 

Dumbledore said quietly: “There’s no reason why you should meet him, but at the time, he was in London. You might meet him on the street, in a shop, or in a restaurant as you take your meals. In 1955, he worked at Borgin and Burkes, as Harry no doubt have told you. The important thing, Miss Granger, is that you must be well aware of him being very much different from the monster you see today. He was young, close to ridiculously handsome, and very, very charming. Also..” he paused, seeking McGonagall’s eyes for a confirmation, which she gave by an almost imperceptible nod, “ … in his younger days, Miss Granger, before he met his downfall by Harry, Voldemort was known as quite the ruthless seducer of young girls.”

“And sometimes, Miss Granger, those girls weren’t always … willing in the beginning,” Snape said darkly. “Beware of him catching an interest in you.”

Xxxx

The lessons would last for two weeks to prepare her for the trip, and each night she fell into bed, exhausted. 

Dumbledore taught her his modified spell for using the Time-Turner, as well as the Tracking spell. That was the easy part, though she was shocked to learn she’d age six months for each day she spent in the past, upon her return. 

“All the more reason to hurry up with your mission,” Dumbledore had commented merrily, looking almost like his old self for the short while his smile lasted. As he gave her extra money for any expenses she might have had, she put it blithely into her bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm she was testing. 

The Headmaster frowned at her, before saying: “Miss Granger, you probably know that these Charms were banned from Hogwarts after our unfortunate encounter with Mr. Crouch posing as Alastor Moody. Have you been tampering with more things?” 

“No,” she said brightly, trying not to think about her experiments with Protean Charms, her illegal brewing projects, and not to mention her un-supervised Arithmancy calculations. _She needed to know everything, to test everything, and the school curriculum wasn’t … enough._

“Good,” Dumbledore said feebly, though she was not by any means sure he had believed her. 

In the early mornings, Professor McGonagall taught her etiquette for young girls in the fifties. Both Hermione and her Professor rolled their eyes for being forced to spend time practising how to hold a teacup, how to address strangers, what not to do as a proper, Pure-blood girl and so on, but both of them admitted to the necessity. Privately, Hermione was very glad she was born thirty years later. 

The private training with Snape in Defense was more difficult and comprehensive. He taught her new spells for both attacking and defense, some of them fairly dark, she rather thought. 

Those lessons took place in his Defense classroom, each day from the last class of the day and until dinner. The tall, dark wizard instructed her with more patience than he did in his class, and she felt like she was improving tremendously. _He_ never praised her, though, but she was sure both her ability to cast rapid spells in succession and her overall strength in casting was becoming far better. 

One evening in the beginning of her second week, he said calmly: “You should also be prepared for being caught.” 

Her breath hitched, and she asked: “What do you mean?” 

He arched an eyebrow at her, articulating very clearly, like she was stupid: “If you are caught by the Dark Lord and his followers, you must not compromise the Order. Or else, all will be lost.” 

Angrily, she retorted: “I know that. What do you suggest I do?” 

“This.” And by that, he extracted a thin, wispy silver thread out of his temple. “As soon as you have found one Horcrux, you extract your memory of it. Leave only a compulsion to get back to your own time. When you have found all three, remove the knowledge of all three, and Horcruxes in general. You can store your memories in a vial, and when you’re safely back in the future, your can re-insert the memories. If you are caught, smash the vials, and the problem is solved.” 

She gaped at him. Then her face broke out into a beaming smile: “But this is excellent! I was so worried about this, but you have the perfect solution!” 

Her Professor scratched his neck like he was uncomfortable, and she supposed, a grumpy man like him seldom got any praise. 

“Yes, well...” he began, a satisfied smirk on his face as he assessed her, “you need to learn this too before you go. Lucky for you, it isn’t that hard.” 

So, he taught her how to extract memories too, and by the end of that session, he tapped his lips, saying with a speculative frown: “Look, Miss Granger, the Headmaster seems to think you’ll be able to talk your way into the house of this Miss Smith. While that might be the case, there is no guarantee you’ll be able to have a look at her valuables. You need a failsafe way to ensure you get to the Horcruxes-to-be.” 

“And what is your solution to this particular problem, sir?” she asked, almost playfully, feeling sufficiently pleased with how fast she had mastered the art of extracting memories. 

He cocked an eyebrow, a small tug to his mouth, and said: “Why, Miss Granger, I would think the solution was obvious.” 

Suddenly, it hit her. _She was close to flirting with Severus Snape, nasty Professor extraordinaire._ Flustered and slightly horrified, she blurted out: “Surely, you cannot mean the Imperius Curse, sir?” 

“Exactly, Miss Granger. The Imperius curse will ensure your access to Miss Smith’s belongings. It wouldn’t be amiss to arrive prepared to cast it. Use it wisely, though.” 

For two nights, they practised the Imperius Curse on animals, before Snape deemed her ready to move on to humans. “I suggest you ask your friend Weasley,” he said, his mouth curling as if he tasted something disgusting. 

“Ron? Well, I think he’ll agree,” she said pensively. _At least, he’d be better than Harry._

Ron proved to be willing, but he was clearly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he stood before them in Snape’s classroom. 

Professor Snape said sardonically: “Don’t worry, Mr. Weasley. I’m chaperoning this event, and Miss Granger won’t have her wicked ways with you, while you’re under the curse.” 

The two teenagers both blushed horribly, and Hermione caught the stolen, but thoughtful glance Ron gave her, and it left her with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. That feeling dissipated quickly, though, as Snape shot down her first, weak attempt with a bark: “Miss Granger, are you a witch or no? This is _not_ how you do it, and I have reason to believe you know it.” 

Shamefaced, she let the curse go, and Ron blinked. 

Snape said silkily: “Allow me to demonstrate.” 

Ron’s eyes widened, as their teacher seemed to grow taller, more menacing, before he hissed: “ _Imperio”._

Hermione stared, as Ron sank to his knees, looking up to Professor Snape in awe. Snape turned to her, and said: “And that’s the effect you’re aiming for.” Cocking his head, he pursed his lips before nodding at Ron. The red-head’s eyes clouded over for a moment, before he continue to stare at Snape with something close to adoration. 

“What did you do?” Hermione asked shrilly, and Snape gave her a lazy smirk. “Hush, Miss Granger. Don’t tell anyone, but I just installed the knowledge of how to cast a wordless spell in Mr. Weasley’s feeble mind. From my point of view, that would be an insurmountable task for him to learn by himself, and he’ll be no use in a duel against a Death Eater if he continues to shout his intentions left and right.” 

“You … you helped him? With a school-related problem?” she said incredulously, feeling as if Snape had cheated. 

“No,” he corrected her gravely, “with a war-related problem, Miss Granger. Now, it’s your turn.” 

Xxxx

And suddenly, preparations were over, and she was ready to leave for the past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go. It may not come as a surprise, that trouble awaits in 1955...


	3. Playing the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black eyes met hers, and Hermione bit her lip, trying to distract herself from rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms. The tall man towered over her, a polite, but haughty and disinterested expression on his face, like she was merely a silly, young girl, having taken a wrong turn in the streets and landed herself in the wrong area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tom Riddle - sorry, I mean the young Lord Voldemort. The prologue took place in the middle of this chapter. Chapter is NSFW.

All went according to plan in the beginning. The International Portkeys Dumbledore had provided worked like clockwork, and she was off to Albania and back again in no time, having placed the Tracking spell on the diadem. Dumbledore had thoughtfully made sure the Portkeys landed her in front of the right tree, having gotten the story of the diadem out of the Grey Lady. 

Back in London, she easily got into Miss Smith’s house the next day, but she had to resort to the Imperius Curse to get her to bring out the locket and the cup, sending a silent thanks to Professor Snape. 

Pleased with her success, she ventured out in the London streets, ready to find a quiet corner to extract her memories, before returning in the evening. _She wouldn’t tell anyone, but she really wanted to have a better look at Diagon Alley in the fifties. It would be like living a lesson in History of Magic for real, and she just couldn’t let that opportunity escape her. Besides, it was not like they would find out she had been sauntering around in the fifties for her own pleasure for a few hours._

As she crossed the street, a man bumped into her, and the movement jolted the strap of her bag into the chain around her neck keeping the Time-Turner securely fastened. Inexplicably, the chain broke. Like in slow motion, the Time-Turner fell from her chest, cracking against the pavement. 

With a small cry of despair, she knelt, scooping it up, but she could see, it was broken. The glass was cracked, and the golden apparatus for setting the time was twisted and distorted out of shape. 

She spent the next two days fiddling with it, trying to mend her only means of returning home, but it wouldn’t work. Renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron, she decided to try her luck in Diagon Alley to get someone to help with repairs, though she made sure to stay away from Knockturn Alley, having no wish to risk a meeting with a young Voldemort. 

The result of her search was meagre. “Miss, this is a job for the Ministry. Time-Turners are strictly Ministry property, it’s not something for us to fool around with. It would be too dangerous if one doesn’t know what one’s doing,” was the answer in every, single shop. _But to go into the Ministry, asking for help? It would be a catastrophe. The Ministry would bungle her mission, she was sure. But if she didn’t manage to return, the whole trip would be wasted. The problem with the Tracking spell, was that it had to be activated by the one casting the spell. Of course, she could stay here, survive until spring 1998, and then step forward to let herself be known. But then, she’d be nearly sixty years old. She wanted her life back, now!_

At last, she met a shop-keeper willing to give her more information. 

First, the friendly-looking old man refused her, like the others, but as she turned to leave, the man said: “Wait, little Miss, there may be someone who can help you. I’m sure a nice young girl like you aren’t familiar with Knockturn Alley. It’s not a wholesome place, Miss, and you need to be very careful in there. There’s a wizard, in a shop called Burgin and Borges, and he’s rumoured to do things others can’t do. I’ve heard he’s done unauthorized repairs on a variety of objects before. Go and see him, he might help you.” 

Well outside, she stumbled off to Florean Fortesque’s Ice Cream Parlor, buying herself a large chocolate sundae for comfort. _What irony. Would Lord Voldemort be the only one who could send her home? And more importantly, would she dare to go to see him? What if he discovered her secrets, or more likely, refused to help her?_

Mulling it over for a few days, she was fast becoming desperate. The room she rented would soon leave her broke, if she had to stay for an extended period. Now, she had spent ten days in the past, and if she managed to return to her own time, she would already have aged five years. Not returning was simply not an option, because she had to make sure Harry got the necessary information to defeat Voldemort. _Who knew? She might die in an accident or from a disease before 1998!_

Making a decision, she prepared herself by removing all memories of her mission, Voldemort’s Horcruxes and Harry Potter, hiding them in vials on her body. She would ask Voldemort for help, to ensure his own ruin. 

Xxxx

The tall, dark-haired, much too-beautiful man said calmly: “I suppose I can do that, though it will cost you, Miss…?” 

“Graves,” she says haughtily. 

“The Irish or the Scottish line?” he asked, pursing his lips thoughtfully. 

“I was born in London,” she snapped, feeling angry at that insane Pure-blood fixation of this age, and him especially. 

He raised an eyebrow at her reaction, but only replied: “Let me see this Time-Turner of yours before I set my price.” 

Reluctantly, she handed it over. He turned it into his hands - _rather large palms, but slender fingers_ \- she noted, before nodding decisively. “Right, Miss Graves,” he said, voice businesslike and brisk, “your Time-Turner has a very interesting modification. I suppose I’m right to believe you have travelled far longer back in time than mere hours or days?” 

“True,” she admitted, but he just nodded, still studying the Time-Turner, leaning casually back at his desk. Staring at him, she marvelled at how tall he was. She knew herself to be a short woman, but he was really looming over her, and she thought he must be at least six feet six. 

Suddenly, he brought out his wand, and she stiffened, an almost choked breath escaping her. 

The bone-white wand seemed to be threatening all on its own, but rationally, she knew it was just a tool for the monster in front of her. Still, it frightened her, like it was a final proof of the wizard in front of her being Lord Voldemort, not just any, beautiful young man. 

“Sorry, did I startle you?” he said absently, before moving his wand back and forth over the Time-Turner. 

“Just a little,” she said weakly, before berating herself. _It would be rather stupid of her to think he could repair it without using his wand._

Then he lifted his head, boring those black eyes into her. “I can fix this,” he said confidently. “The question is, can you afford my price? This takes a lot of knowledge and mastery, and I don’t do these things for free, no matter how pretty the witch.” 

His gleaming smile was obviously intended to appease her, but instead, she felt sick. _Sodding Lord Voldemort complimented me!_ Shivers raced up and down her spine, like the scuttling feet of spiders and other creeps of the night. 

“Name your prize,” she said slowly, thinking about her small amount of Galleons. 

“Four hundred Galleons, up front,” he said, watching her expectantly. 

She blanched, having less than forty Galleons left. 

“You don’t have that kind of money,” he stated, scrutinizing her. 

“That’s right. I can give you all I have got, but all I have, is 38 Galleons,” she said despondently, feeling as if his prize was so far away from what she could afford, making haggling useless. 

“Hmm,” he tapped his lips with a long, slender finger. “No objects, heirlooms or valuable artifacts?” 

She shook her head, feeling tears pool in her eyes. _She’d never get home. Never._

Then he slowly moved his eyes over her, in a way that made her feel unclean, dirty even, like he was undressing her with his eyes. 

“You might have something else I need,” he said slowly, a strange glitter in his eyes that she was sure didn’t bode well for herself. 

“What might that be? “ she asked shakily. 

“Are you a virgin, Miss Graves?” 

She gaped at him, as this was the last thing she had supposed he’d ask. _A virgin? Why does he ask…?_

“Yes,” she croaked out, her face red as a beet. 

“Good,” he crooned. “I suppose you are of age, too, if only barely?” 

She nodded, still speechless. 

“I want to perform a ritual at the new moon in three days,” he said. “I need a willing virgin to sacrifice her maidenhood in that ritual.”

Frightened, feeling like someone had placed an iron claw around her heart, squeezing it slowly but relentlessly, she asked: “What does this ritual of yours entails?” 

He drawled lazily, eyes dragging over her body: “Sex, Miss Graves.” 

“What’s the ritual for, Mr…?” 

_She knew his name, of course, but there was no reason why a random Miss Graves from an unknown, future decade would know his identity._

“It’s Riddle. Tom Riddle, and this is merely a strengthening ritual,” he said dismissively. 

Pressing her eyes closed, trying to still the hammering of her heart, she asked: “Will I be deflowered by implements, and will anyone be watching?” _There were rumours of dark revels, of debauchery, public acts of sex and torture as well as gang rapes in the future. She didn’t know if it was true, but she wanted to know what she was getting into._

As she opened her eyes, deciding it was better to face the monster full on, instead of hiding behind closed eyes, she saw to her surprise that his eyes widened in shock, like _she_ had asked something unimaginable and wildly inappropriate, but his reaction lasted only a split second. 

Dryly, he responded: “I don’t know how you do it in the future, but I’ll do the honours, Miss Graves. And no, it’ll be just you and me. In the woods, at night.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut again. _Gods, sweet Merlin. Losing her virginity to Voldemort in a ritual that surely was dark, to strengthen him, her enemy. It was beyond nightmarish._ A hysterical giggle almost bubbled up in her before she managed to quell it _: At least the man who deflowers me will be good-looking._

“I suppose I must agree,” she said slowly, unwillingly. “Will you fix the Time-Turner now?” 

At that, he threw his head back, barking a short laugh of amusement: “Merlin, no. Do you think me stupid, girl? You’ll do your part of the bargain, and then I’ll do mine. Can’t risk you running away to the future before I’ve had you, you know.” 

Xxxx

The next three days were spent between bouts of mindless, gibbering panic and determined exploration of Diagon Alley and wizarding life in the fifties. Repeatedly, she pictured the shocked and appalled faces of everyone she knew back in 1998, if they discovered she had willingly accepted to have sex with Lord Voldemort. She decided, she’d do her best to avoid anyone finding out. Realizing this information still probably should be shared with the Order, she vowed that if she _had_ to tell anyone, it would be Dumbledore, and Dumbledore only. _No one else._

She read the Daily Prophet with great interest, deciding it was just as much of a useless rag as in the nineties. At the Leaky Cauldron, she drank butterbeer long into the evening, her nose buried in a very interesting book she had bought at Flourish and Blotts, before suddenly discovering she was the only witch in the room. Most of the wizards were leering at her, and as she looked up, she was propositioned by a middle-aged man, offering ten Galleons if she would step out into the alley with him. 

“It’ll only take a few minutes, Miss,” he said, licking his lips as he appraised her form. 

“No,” she barked, bringing out her wand, upon which he retreated. Looking around, she saw the men glancing quickly away, some looking disappointed. With a sigh, she realized that she should have remembered McGonagall’s lessons: proper, young, single witches didn’t go alone to pubs at night in this decade. The wizard on the neighbouring table let his eyes wander back to her, before he leaned in: “Name your prize, girl. I don’t care if it’s more than ten Galleons.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she slammed her book shut, stalking out to go back into her room. Well inside, she locked and warded the door, leaning her head against the frame. A tired, desperate laugh escaped her at the thought: _She could have whored her way around Diagon Alley, raising the four hundred Galleons in a few days with hard work, instead of giving herself to Voldemort._

Though, she didn’t know what was worse, having several strangers pawing her, instead of just one, evil monster. At the very least, she hoped the Headmaster would appreciate her efforts. She rather thought Harry, Ron and McGonagall would be shocked and displeased, though Severus Snape would probably just arch his eyebrows, saying something along the lines of ‘I told you so.’ 

Xxxx

It was time. It was the night of the new moon, and standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, all her belongings in her bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm, she had tried to hide the fact that she was female by Transfiguring her robes into a cloak with a cowl. _Just like a Death Eater,_ she thought darkly, but she felt safer this way, to avoid the attention of the more or less drunk wizards entering or leaving the pub. The moonless night was very dark, and the night of 21 December was cold, with gusts of wind howling through the darkened street. It was the darkest night of the year, and glumly, she thought it was very fitting. _The darkest night, for the darkest of acts._

A voice by her ear startled her: “Are you ready, Miss Graves?” 

Her heart beating at a furious pace, she squeezed her eyes shut, stammering: “Yes, I am, Mr. Riddle.” _Gods, this is it. He’s going to take me away, to … fuck me. Merlin, I hope that’s all he does. I’m going out on a limb here, and he might very well kill me in the process. Though if I don’t, all might be for naught._

He grabbed her arm, pulling her into his body roughly, and then there was the familiar squeeze of Apparition. They landed in a dark glen, lit only by the stars overhead, but Hermione’s mind was now busy with one thing, and one thing only: “Your Apparition didn’t make any sound. How is that possible, and how do you do it?” 

Raising an eyebrow at the burning curiosity in her eyes, he said arrogantly: “I don’t expect you to understand this, but it’s all a matter of adjusting a spell, the ‘ _aer corpus,’_ to combat the displacement of air from the mass of your body.” 

“Oh!” Her mind worked furiously. _She had always been good at mathematics._ Standing still for a moment, as he turned around to the glen, nodding with satisfaction at the sight, she calculated her body mass roughly. 

“I need to try this,” she mumbled. 

He turned, looking irritated, but she held up a hand imperiously to stall him. 

“Just a moment,” she said distractedly, fixing her intent and the spell firmly in her mind, before Apparating a few feet. 

There was still a sound, but it was now a low _pop!,_ instead of the usual, loud crack. 

“Not good enough, I need to adjust…” she mumbled, before Apparating once again, the sound now barely audible. “It’ll have to do for now,” she announced briskly, nodding to herself. _This would be dead useful, though it would be difficult to master completely._

Voldemort stared at her with surprise on his face, before he said with interest: “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” 

Shaking herself out of her research mindset, she became again uncomfortably aware of why they were here. Glancing around the glen, she saw nothing but dead grass and straws. A small breeze wafted through the trees, and she rubbed her arms nervously, feeling a trembling in her legs. _She didn’t want to do this. You must,_ she told herself, _do it for Harry. Do it for the Greater Good._

“Undress,” he instructed her, before casually stripping himself, folding his robes neatly. 

Slowly following his example, she peered at him through her eyelashes. He was indeed beautiful. Tall, well-sculpted with a toned body, and a light smattering of dark chest hair. She blushed, as she saw the large, thick cock hanging down between his thighs. 

At that, she was suddenly very much reminded of the fact that he was a grown man, and she only a seventeen year old girl. A schoolgirl, not yet out of Hogwarts, at that. 

He chuckled at seeing where her eyes had landed, and he murmured, indicating his cock: “You haven’t seen one of these before?” 

“Not really,” she swallowed, her voice a faint whisper. 

Callously, he said: “You’re certainly going to feel this one tonight. And we’ll orgasm together.”

“Really?” she said, scepticism lacing her voice, but he just snorted. 

As she took off her bra and knickers, he took a good look at her, appraising her curves, and she blushed to see his cock twitch, before it grew, hardening into a firm erection. 

_Inside her, she was close to gibbering. Lord Voldemort wants to fuck me! He actually wants to, getting a hard-on by seeing me!_ By all rights, she should be running away, screaming, but she forced herself to stand still. 

“Go into the middle of the glen,” he said, still looking at her breasts, and she moved slowly. The great oak trees around them rustled gently in the gusts of wind, and she felt goosebumps forming on her skin, due to both the cold and her fear. 

Moving to stand beside her, towering over her, he lifted his wand, ready to cast. 

Nervously, she blurted out: “Is there some sort of spell to lubricate me, Mr. Riddle?” 

He shrugged. “You won’t need it. The ritual spell will take care of that. Inside the circle, however, you will address me as Lord Voldemort, girl.” 

At that, his eyes lit up in red glints. 

She gasped, feeling dread starting to overwhelm her, wondering if she would survive this night. 

“Good, you know that name. You fear me, I can tell. It will make it all so much better - for me,” he crooned, looking greedily at her. 

Swirling around, he cast a circle, making it erupt in flickering, red flames. Pointing at a rock, he levitated it, placing it in the exact middle of the circle, before Transfiguring it into a stone altar. 

Then he turned to her, before pointing his wand straight up: “ _Vis Virginitus, Sacrifico Obscurum!”_

The flames in the circle took on a darker, reddish tinge, making the light play over his body and face. He looked like a Greek god, face almost inhumanly beautiful with his straight nose, full lips, dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Though, all statues Hermione had seen when visiting museums with her parents had been lacking in one respect. Their manhoods had been surprisingly small, and his was _not_. 

Stumbling backwards at the realization - _this large thing would soon be inside herself -_ she hit the altar with her arse, the impact painful, making her whimper softly. 

He said silkily: “You have understood the gist of it, Miss Graves.”

He pounced on her like a large predator, swiftly running his hand over her breasts, and Hermione was shocked to feel her body respond violently, a rush of throbbing wetness gushing between her legs. 

Gaping in astonishment at this surprising and unwelcome arousal, she gave a small squeak as he hitched her up on the altar by grabbing her thighs and spreading them out, before positioning himself between her legs. 

Ruthlessly, he entered her fully with a brutal thrust, making her squirm in pain as his large cock stretched her virginal walls, the intrusion feeling foreign and strange. He didn’t pause to give her a moment, but continued to pump into her. Biting her lip, she felt her body falling into the grips of that mad, strange desire, and after a few thrusts, to her great mortification she found herself moaning and panting underneath him, while a part of her mind was silently screaming, nonstop, horrified at her body’s reaction. 

With a small growl, he withdrew, flipping her around and bending her over the altar, before rutting into her from behind. She gasped at the unexpected move, but that turned into a deep groan as he snaked one arm around her hips to flick her clit. 

Her desire was cresting, building up, little tremors shaking her belly, and she was now continuously moaning, though her mind yelled _No, no, no, nononono!_ Still, she arched into his fingers and cock, her slick clit throbbing with needy want, while he roughly slammed into her, his grip on her hips hard and bruising. He was panting hard too, and she could feel his cock swelling inside her. 

Snarling, he commanded her: “Come for Lord Voldemort,” and to her great shame, _that_ did it for her, and she clenched around him, almost shouting as her orgasm shook her like an earthquake, her world becoming a free-fall of blinding light, convulsing belly, trembling hard clit and mind-blowing ecstasy. Behind her, he was gasping and growling, before his cock jerked harshly inside her, and something warm and wet rushed into her in great bursts. 

A dark void rushed in, like empty space itself, rushing past her, into _him_ , and she could feel him writhe behind her, his grip on her hips still painful and hard. He howled in pain, shockingly loud, and she felt his tall frame shaking behind her, before he collapsed on top of her, his breath coming in great gulps. 

He was heavy, and she was glad when he moved off her to sit beside her on the altar. Peering at him, her head hanging down between her arms, she saw there was a red smear on his member. _Her own virgin blood, on Voldemort’s wet, limp, but still impressively sized cock._

Turning around to sit herself, she winced. _She was sore, alright, but then again, he hadn’t exactly used her gently either._ There was an uncomfortable silence, and she made a face of disgust as his come started to drip out of her abused sex. 

Sighing deeply, he more stated than asked: “You alright, girl?” 

“Yes,” she said, wondering why he even bothered to ask such a thing. _He was Lord Voldemort, right? He didn’t care about the well-being of others._

He flicked his hand, Summoning a pack of cigarettes from his robes. Lighting a cigarette with the tip of his wand, inhaling deeply, he said to her shocked face: “Yes, I know it’s a filthy, Muggle habit. Yet I can’t seem to throw it. It feels so good after sex. You want one?” 

Blinking at him, she nodded, suddenly feeling reckless. _She had never, ever contemplated smoking, but then again, she had never thought she’d have sex with Voldemort either. So why not smoke too?_

He lit the cigarette for her, but after inhaling, she coughed violently, making the wizard beside her grin wryly. “There’s a first time for everything,” he commented, before closing his eyes, inhaling, and blowing out smoke rings by pursing his lips. 

She supposed, she shouldn’t have been surprised when he blew a long snake, gamboling through the rings he had created. 

“Neat trick,” she said, marvelling at the fact that he didn’t seem nearly so scary, now that he had been inside her. 

He nodded, smiling lazily. Finishing his cigarette, he said: “Give me that Time-Turner.”

She Summoned her bag from her pile of clothes, plucking out the golden Time-Turner, before giving it to him. As he turned it over in his hands, she took a long look at him. She noted, he was paler than he had been before the ritual, and somehow, he looked older, more drawn, his contours were almost vague, like he had expended too much energy to stay in the reality. _Merlin, I hope I haven’t helped him too much with this ritual,_ she thought _, feeling slightly guilty. Then again, the reason why she had participated was to ensure his downfall, so she guessed it would even out in the long run._

He cocked his head, meeting her eyes for a moment, murmuring: “Interesting…” Tapping his wand against the Time-Turner, she felt the force of his magic gathering before she saw a blinding, white light enveloping the Time-Turner. When the light faded, there were bright spots in her vision, and he landed the Time-Turner into her palm. 

“There,” he says, mouth quirking. “As I see it, it’s set to return you to only moments after you left. Won’t they be surprised, seeing you returning naked and with my seed covering your thighs? I’m quite sure, Dumbledore has never seen a naked woman before. Give him my regards, Miss _Granger_.” 

She looked at him in shock, as he gave her a rather nasty grin, eyes glittering wickedly at her, before he leaned forward, tapping the Time-Turner and said quite clearly: “ _Returno._ ” 


	4. Fallen From Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s addressed to me,” Hermione said dumbly, staring at the wax sigil imprinted with the Dark Mark. 
> 
> The Dark Mark? Who would send her a letter with the Dark Mark? Oh, bollocks…

“Ooomph!”

The air was pressed out of her lungs, as she smacked her back hard into the wooden floor. For a moment, she was disoriented, trying to catch her breath. _She was back._ Dumbledore’s office was warm and welcoming, just like when she had left, and to her, it seemed like the Headmaster, professors McGonagall and Snape, plus Harry and Ron hadn’t moved an inch since she left. 

They had all gathered to see her off, tremulous smiles on their faces, and now, they turned towards her, shock on their faces. 

_Oh, she must be a sight, just like he had said. Naked, with blood and his white, sticky release covering her thighs, her hair a frightful mess, bruises on her hips, and clutching her wand and her beaded bag._

But this wasn’t the most important thing. She gasped: “I did it, I did it!” 

Scrambling to her feet, she activated the Tracking spell, tracing the wand movements carefully and with precision, whispering: “ _Investigo!”_

A scroll appeared from thin air, three small dots glowing gently on a map, one dot at Hogwarts, while two showed places in London. She exhaled, relieved that none seemed to be in inaccessible places for the Order, like Malfoy Manor or somewhere abroad. _Her mission was completed._

“My goodness, what happened to you, Miss Granger?” McGonagall said, shock painted on her face. The old witch quickly Conjured a blanket, wrapping it around Hermione’s body. The others still gaped at her, and she thrust the scroll into Dumbledore’s hands, holding the tips of the blanket closely around her body. _There was no need to show anything more than necessary, being naked in front of her friends and teachers was not something she cared for experiencing again. With luck, she could explain this as an accident, involving some unknown wizard, though she could hardly get away from the fact that she had just had sex._

Peeking at Ron, she saw his jaw work convulsively, like he was fighting the urge to say something, or maybe even trying to avoid crying. _This would certainly be a setback to her hopes for a budding relationship,_ she thought despondently, sending a not-so-friendly thought to the bastard who had sent her back like this, no even allowing her the decency of dressing after sex. 

Then, a large Eagle owl landed on the window sill, tapping on the pane. The Headmaster opened the window to let it in, and the Eagle owl spread its wings, flying a small circle in the room, dropping a letter on Hermione’s head, before screeching, taking off out the window again. 

“It’s addressed to me,” Hermione said dumbly, staring at the wax sigil imprinted with the Dark Mark. _The Dark Mark? Who would send a letter with the Dark Mark? Oh, bollocks…_ She felt panic squeeze her throat, making it hard to breathe. 

“Let me check for curses,” Snape said hastily, sending her a wary look, leaning over towards her. He waved his wand over the letter, before shaking his head. “Oddly enough, it’s clean,” he said. 

With trembling hands she fumbled at breaking the wax. _Why is HE sending me a letter? Is he going to tell everyone about what happened? That he took my virginity in 1955? Is this some kind of blackmail?_

As she opened it, she stared blankly at the content for a few moments, before Snape impatiently ripped it out of her hands, reading it aloud: 

“ _I remember. L.V._ ” 

“Hermione, what did you do?” Dumledore said, a sad expression on his face, while at the same time, Snape exploded: “I told you, something like this would happen!” 

Turning to her, Snape’s scowl softened for a moment, before he asked: “Did he hurt you, Miss Granger?” 

“Eerr, no, not exactly,” she said evasively. _How stupid was she, to think no one would find out?_

McGonagall’s hands flew to her mouth, staring at her in horror, as Snape pointed out: “You’re naked, and if I’m not mistaken, the fluid staining your … ah … your legs … is semen. Plus that message… Miss Granger, did you just have sex with the Dark Lord?”

“How could you!” Harry stared at her with big, green eyes, hurt, pain and rage flickering over his face. Ron was beet red in his face, chest puffing out in outrage, but kept his mouth shut. _She just knew, he was working his way up to an explosion._

Dumbledore drew a weary hand across his face, shaking his head. “At least,” he murmured, “at least you secured the Tracking spell. Though at what cost? Tell me, Miss Granger, what secrets did you reveal to Tom Riddle?” 

“Nothing important,” she said a bit defiantly, taking in the disappointment, anger and sadness radiating from her friends and her Professors. 

“Please tell us, what happened in the past.” The command in the Headmaster was audible, and the word ‘please’ was merely a technicality. 

Hand shaking, she fumbled with her handbag, taking out twelve vials filled with memories. Pulling a stopper and taking out her wand, she explained: “I removed my memories after my task was done. If I am to tell you anything, I need to replace the memories in my head.” 

Dumbledore and McGonagall looked baffled, but Snape nodded approvingly at her. 

It took a few minutes to insert the memories, and then she quickly related what had happened to her in the past, glossing over any details of the ritual. 

Harry and Ron sat with arms crossed, staring at her, like they had never seen her before, while McGonagall shed a tear, muttering: “Poor girl. Poor girl. I knew this was too dangerous.” 

At the end of her tale, Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Dear Miss Granger,” he said kindly, “I appreciate your great sacrifice. I truly do. But you must realize, you’re now a liability, even though Severus was right to advise you to remove your memories. Even though Tom learned nothing about the Horcruxes and Harry, he obviously read your mind. We cannot know what he gleaned from you. The fact that you didn’t notice his Legilimency, tells me you cannot know how many times he invaded you.” 

The wording made her blush deeply, and Ron rolled his eyes at her in disgust. 

Her friend stood up, having finally found his voice, and he snarled viciously at her: “Still, you’ve whored yourself out to Lord Voldemort. You … Hermione, I thought better of you.” His blue eyes glared at her, showing her exactly what he thought about her actions. 

“Mr. Weasley!” McGonagall said shrilly in protest, but the tall, gangly boy stumbled off, tears in his eyes, and closed the door behind him with an almighty crash. Harry rose, giving her a brief glance of mingled disgust, horror and tiny bit of reluctant respect, before running after Ron, but taking care to close the door gently. 

The silence was ringing, and for a moment, she sat still, tears in her own eyes, biting her lip helplessly. _This was the worst outcome of her bargain with that monster, Harry and Ron finding out. But she supposed, when dealing with Lord Voldemort, she should have expected the worst._

Snape said, his voice almost devoid of sneer and sarcasm: “Miss Granger, this isn’t the end of the world. You did well, completing your mission, though your return was more fraught with danger than we all should have wished. I ask you again: Did he hurt you? He isn’t known for being gentle, exactly.” 

McGonagall seemed to be half in shock still, clutching the edges of her chair, knuckles almost whitening, a devastated expression on her face. 

Hermione shook her head, saying: “I don’t want to talk about it.” _To her dying day, she would vehemently deny the fact that she had come around Lord Voldemort’s cock, spell or no spell. Though, she was both sore and bruised, and probably would be in need of a painkiller by morning to walk without an odd gait._

Snape shrugged: “Suit yourself, girl. But do come and see me if you need any potions. Of _any kind,_ mind you.” 

Head snapping up, she whispered: “Gods, I need something. There was no spell, no Contraceptive...”

Snape quirked his mouth, like he was thinking ‘ _I told you so,’_ but McGonagall looked like she wanted to throw up, right there on the carpet. Snape said calmly: “I’ll have it delivered to your dorm. And maybe a Pain-killing potion or two?” 

She nodded stiffly in thanks. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Miss Granger,” he said kindly, “I realize this has been a tough journey for you. I want you to go and have a rest now, and then we’ll talk in the morning. But first, I must let you know. Due to this … unexpected event … I must bar you from attending any Order meetings for the time being. You are dismissed, Miss Granger.”

The words rang out with a sickening finality, and she rose, slowly, jutting her chin out, deciding not to cry in front of these people. _She could wait until she was alone._

Meeting Snape’s eyes, she saw a raw sympathy in his black, usually emotionless eyes, and she quickly looked away, lest her own feelings of unfairness, of being unjustly treated, would overcome her. “Goodnight, Professors,” she said calmly, before walking out, still wrapped in McGonagall’s Conjured blanket, clutching her beaded bag in her hand. 

As she closed the door, she heard Dumbledore say: “We need to talk, Severus. This can also afford us…” The closing of the door shut out the rest of his sentence. 

Xxxx 

In the prefect’s bathroom, she cleaned herself thoroughly, washing what felt like filth off her body, taking especially care to scrub her thighs free from his now dried release. She even tried to wash herself on the inside, but inserting a finger in her vagina proved to be too painful, the soreness making her whimper, hastily retracting her finger. _She supposed, there was no surprise in Lord Voldemort being a violent lover. Lover…!_ The thought almost made her retch. _He was no more her lover than she was…_ her inner voice unhelpfully supplied: _… an Order member._

Having a good cry in the bath, for what she felt like was the loss of friends, trust and her reputation, she literally bawled at the unfairness of it all. _All she had done, was to navigate an impossible situation, doing the best she could when all went wrong. And it had worked, Lord Voldemort had sent her back, helping her on the way to his ultimate downfall. She had to believe, her sacrifice had to be worth that much, or else she didn’t know how she could live with what she had been forced to do._

Drying herself off with a large, fluffy towel, she scrutinized herself in the mirror. She had spent thirteen days in the past, making her almost seven years older than she had been. Her new age would be twenty-four. 

_Yes, her figure had changed_. Her hips were wider and her arse a little more prominent, her breasts larger and fuller, though she was still slim. Her face looked older, still youthful, but just… _older_ than she had before. Her hair, though, seemed to be exactly the same bushy mane she always had struggled with. On the inside, she felt far older, but she supposed, ever rational, it could be merely the stress, because no one had said anything about Time-travelling affecting one’s mental age. 

As she left the Prefect’s bathroom, walking slowly towards Gryffindor Tower, she passed Professor Snape in the hallway. He looked like he had been outside, his sallow face slightly flushed as if he had been walking fast in the cold weather, and his long, thick winter cloak swirled around him. 

He almost paused, _goggling at her older form,_ she was sure. Then he nodded at her with pity in his eyes, stepping briskly ahead. _If she wasn’t mistaken, Dumbledore would have sent his spy off to Lord Voldemort to get more information about the Dark Lord’s intentions. And the way he looked at her, it didn’t seem like it was good news._

Xxxx

The Pain-killing potions Snape had sent her proved to be a blessing. He had not sent two, like he had said, but _four_. The next morning, she had barely been able to sit up in bed, and she had downed the two last Pain-killing Potions, feeling an instant relief. 

_She wondered if her Professor knew exactly how the Dark Lord used to make lo… no! How he used to fuck, not make love, it was absolutely, clearly just brutal fucking!_

Her hands shaking, she also gulped down an extra dose of the Contraceptive Potion. Shuddering, she imagined how awful it would be, to become pregnant by Lord Voldemort. 

Skipping breakfast, not wanting to see either Harry, Ron or the happy, carefree grins of her fellow Gryffindors enjoying the late Sunday breakfast, she went directly to the library. 

She noted the odd glances from students she passed in the hall, knowing that they probably wondered at her sudden aging. In the library, she meant to look up the spell from the ritual to learn what Voldemort really had performed, only to discover she had been barred from the Restricted Section, her pass expired. 

Fuming, she took a short walk around the lake, trying to calm her head. _She had been named a liability. She had been dismissed from the Order. She was barred from the Restricted Section. Clearly, she wasn’t to be trusted with anything: not with dangerous magic, not with secrets, and not with contributing to the war effort. She wouldn’t be surprised, if she was to be thrown out of Hogwarts, for posing a threat too._

When the owl came, Summoning her to the Headmaster’s office, she had worked herself into a right snit. 

Xxxx

Again, she was seated in front of the Headmaster, McGonagall and Snape flanking her. 

“My, you’ve grown into a very pretty, young woman,” McGonagall told her, eyes warm with sympathy, “though I daresay it isn’t easy to age years in a single night.” 

She nodded gratefully, giving her Head of House a small, forced smile. _It wasn’t McGonagall’s fault. Curb your anger, Hermione,_ she told herself. 

“Miss Granger,” the Headmaster began, looking like he hadn’t slept at all during the night. His face was sagging, and he had dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes. “Professor Snape visited Tom last night, to glean what he could from him about you and the letter he sent.” 

She nodded politely, having surmised as much, and turned her gaze to Professor Snape. 

He cleared his throat, saying uneasily with his deep, rich voice: “For some reason, the Dark Lord is eager to meet you again, but I do not know why.” 

Shock coursed through her. “He’s _eager_ to meet me?” _This was the last thing she had expected. She had expected him to laugh about the way he had discredited her to Dumbledore, or gloating over getting information from her mind. But not … this._

Dumbledore said gravely: “This is serious. But it is also an opportunity we should not waste. Miss Granger, instead of beating around the bush, I tell you straight out, I want you to be our new spy along with Severus.” 

“Spy?” he voice rose, shrill and high, as she stared at Dumbledore. Leaning forward, she slammed her fist into his desk. “Don’t you think I’ve done enough? I had to … do _that …_ with that monster to get back here!” 

“Yes, I mean spying, to help Harry, for the Greater Good,” Dumbledore said calmly, though his blue eyes flashed chillingly at her. “Because you _still_ do want to help, don’t you, after what you’ve been through?” 

_Bloody hell. It was a trap,_ she just knew it _. If she said no, she’d be whisked away, her memory maybe even wiped, maybe even escorted out of Hogwarts within the blink of an eye as a liability, a danger to the other students, left to fend for herself. If she accepted, she’d probably be killed by Lord Voldemort, but maybe she could do some good for the war effort first._

Bitterly, she gritted out: “I suppose I must accept, then.” 

Snape made a twitch with his arm, almost like he either had wanted to pat her arm or slap her, but she didn’t know which one it would be. Sighing deeply, he said: “This will be dangerous, Miss Granger. Very dangerous. You should hear us out, before you make any decision. One thing is certain, we’ll need to remove your memories of the Horcruxes until your Occlumency is up to scratch.” 

“Good,” the Headmaster said, eyes glinting coldly, but approving. “Minerva will, after I am gone, be your handler in the Order. It might also be so,” he shared a glance with Snape again, “after I’m gone, that Minerva will be the only one to know your true allegiance.” 

“Will people believe that I, a Muggleborn, willingly joined You-Know-Who?” she asked dubiously. 

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore said, eyes now steely, “you’ll pretend to be seduced by the dark side, just like you were, in a quite literal sense.” 

She grimaced, thinking that her bargain with Voldemort was _very far_ from a seduction. 

“You will be aligned with Professor Snape, and he’ll instruct you. You’ll stay in Severus’ quarters...” the old wizard said, making both her, Snape and McGonagall lift their eyebrows, “...pretending to be his lover,” Dumbledore continued. 

Snape drew a shocked, angry gasp, but McGonagall turned to him, saying threateningly: “If you touch that girl…”

Surprisingly enough, Snape just shrugged. “The girl just made the Dark Lord assist in returning her to her own timeline. I think she can take care of herself.” 

Surprisingly enough, McGonagall nodded, before asking: “Albus, how will anyone believe Severus and Miss Granger are together? Though she looks older now, people will still know her real age. And what about the Board of Governors?” 

Snape said with a straight face: “I guess I have to grope her in public a few times. Then they all will believe it.” 

Both Hermione and McGonagall blinked at the incongruous thought of Professor Severus Snape groping Hermione - _groping anyone_ \- but at last, McGonagall said weakly: “I suppose that’ll do the trick.”

The Headmaster grimaced, and he nodded to Severus. “You’ll have to ask Tom to pull rank with certain members of the Board. Really, I can’t be seen advocating this.” 

_Hypocrite,_ Hermione thought venomously, and by the glances from the two Professors at her side, she rather thought they felt the same way. 

McGonagall asked: “Earlier, Miss Granger pointed to something important. She’s a Muggleborn. _How_ do we know You-Know-Who won’t kill her on sight? Or maybe use her as a pawn to blackmail Harry?” 

Slowly, Snape replied: “I don’t _think_ he’ll kill her. To be frank, he’s not that interested in anyone’s bloodline but his own, though he certainly sets stock by blood status. This,” he said to Hermione, “is a subject best left alone with both the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. Just … don’t bring it up, don’t provoke anything. And, he seems to be impressed by you,” he added, glancing at Hermione with curiosity. 

”If she’s seen to be drawn to the dark side, her value as a pawn will be greatly diminished,” the Headmaster stated callously. “Harry won’t lift a finger to save her, if he believes she’s on Tom’s side.” 

Hermione felt a cold tingle down her spine. _Everyone would believe she was evil. Mad, even, the crazy Muggleborn joining You-Know-Who. It would be .. horrible. Much like what Professor Snape faced every day. And why did she feel like Professor Snape was the one on her side, and not the great, good and acclaimed Albus Dumbledore?_

Clearing her throat, suddenly feeling like there was a constriction in her airway, she asked: “What about my education?”

The Headmaster shrugged. “You’ll continue as usual.” 

“Then I want my pass for the Restricted Section back,” she said firmly. 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Girl, don’t sign your future away for a _library pass_ ,” he drawled, before muttering derisively: “Little Miss Know-It-All.” 

She huffed at him, before asking: “Are there any female Death Eaters?” Only Bellatrix Lestrange came to mind, and she genuinely wondered if there were any others. 

“Certainly,” Snape replied. “True, there are more wizards, but I’d say less than half are female. Maybe 38 percent.” 

Hermione blinked at him, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was such a thing as being too meticulous. She supposed, _you had to be that exact for being a successful Potions Master_. 

Shaking the stray thought off, she asked: “Will I be required to take the Dark Mark?” Her question was directed at Professor Snape, but the Headmaster answered. 

“I have no idea, because as far as we know, as he hasn’t inducted anyone that isn’t at least a quarter wizard in his ranks.”

“How much of my memories will have to be removed?” 

“Good question,” the Headmaster murmured. He mulled that over for a moment, before answering: “Not much. The Horcruxes and the fact that we are looking for them. He’ll know something is wrong, if you turn up with your mind like a blank slate.” 

“A fair point,” MvGonagall conceded. 

“But .. then he’ll know about 12 Grimmauld Place, about Order members, about Harry and…” she said flustered. 

Dumbledore sighed. “He already knows much about that. The thing about spying, you know, is to make it all believable. Severus must, unfortunately, tell the Dark Lord some things we’d rather keep hidden, just to gain his trust. Likewise, we are forced to not act on all the bits and pieces of the information Severus brings back to us. Such information must be handled carefully, as to not expose our valuable spy.” 

To her surprise, both McGonagall Snape nodded gravely. 

Snape said quietly: “Thanks to Albus’ discretion, I’m still alive after all these years. But the things we have been forced to let pass, still pains me. Deaths, attacks, other crimes…” he trailed off, face contorted into a grimace of pain.

McGonagall said warmly: “And we’ll do our best to keep you afloat when Albus is gone, Severus … and now, Hermione too.” 

Hermione fiddled with her wand, her heart bleeding at the thought of bringing back information that could have saved someone, and then … _those people would have to be sacrificed anyway, to keep herself alive._ She glanced at Snape, in a way feeling glad that he weren’t as hardened as to not feel anguish over this. 

But there was another point that was bothering her too. 

“I’ve heard rumours of _revels,”_ she said, her mouth in a small moue of distaste. “Do I have to have sex with any Death Eaters to play my role?” 

Snape’s eyebrows quirked, and he murmured: “From what I learned, you should be more worried about _him_.” 

“What?” she shrieked, knowing very well who ‘ _him’_ would be. McGonagall shuddered, looking queasy again. 

“He’s an old man! Half a snake! He’s what - more than seventy years old! Shouldn’t he be impotent, or at least mostly unable to … ?” she paused, not willing to voice this explicitly in front of her Professors, though she felt sick. _Not again, they can’t possibly expect that of me! Not again, not when he looks like … that!_

To her surprise, _both_ Snape and Dumbledore chuckled, both suddenly grinning like teenage boys listening to a rude joke. Revolted, she stared at the two old men - though she conceded, Snape was maybe not old, but he was certainly too old for this behaviour, not to mention Dumbledore. 

Then Snape schooled his face into his usual, impassive expression: “I can’t give you an answer on how often he feels so inclined, but I can confirm he’s able to if he wants too. It’s not a given that he would want this from you. I cannot, however, entirely rule out the possibility that he’ll want you in that capacity. Maybe he merely wants to recruit you. The only thing I know so far, is that he’s interested in you.” 

“Oh gods, oh Merlin,” she moaned, hiding her head in her hands. “Will I be passed around for other Death Eaters?” 

“What, no!” Snape looked shocked for a moment. “That’s very unlikely, at least if you explicitly doesn’t want to,” he explained, before his face softened, like he suddenly remembered that behind the face of the grown woman in front of him, she was still a young girl. “There’s some truth to the revels,” he continued carefully, “but it’s not as bad as the rumours. Yes, there can be torture and deaths, though not always, and yes, sex in public happens, but not often. You might have to watch rapes during torture, but never, ever of his own followers. He’s not stupid, you know. If he tortured and raped his own, no one would follow him. Usually at revels, people just drink, tell jokes and stories. Some does partake of mind-altering potions, though.” 

Staring at him, she suddenly blurted out: “You’re a dealer!” 

“Pardon?” he said with surprise. 

“You supply them with those potions - like Muggle drugs!” 

“Of course,” he said off-handedly, like this was nothing. Seeing her flabbergasted expression, he added: “That’s hardly the worst thing I do. Believe me, Miss Granger, you’ll be forced to perform much worse than brewing a few dubious potions, if you accept this mission. Tell us, are you truly ready for torturing, or even killing people, to prove your worth and your loyalty to the Dark Lord?” 

She shrugged, feeling very small and insignificant. “I guess not, but who would?” _Gods, I’ll turn out like… someone bad. Like Snape._ She swallowed hard, forcing back her tears again. 

“Good point,” Snape said, looking abashed. Haltingly, he said: “I just want you to know what - and who - you’re up against. You need to be prepared, girl, for what’s coming your way, if you go through with this.” 

Her mouth firmed, and she drove her eyes into the Headmaster. “There’s one condition, though. My parents must be safe. I want you to move them to a safe location. I suppose I can’t be seen to visit nor protect them if I do this.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “Miss Granger, I can’t express how grateful I am for you to take up this task. You have my word, your parents will be kept safe, and I think you’re right in presuming you need to stay away from them.” 

Snape sneered, spitting at Dumbledore: “I hope you’ll make good on your promise - _this time.”_

To her surprise, Dumblefore looked humbled. “I promise, Severus,” he said softly. Turning to her, he continued: “It would mean a lot for us, if we manage to place two spies in Tom’s ranks. Severus is doing an admirable job, but he’s placed in the Inner Circle, dealing mostly with strategies, recruiting and such. We would benefit immensely, if we could get someone among the younger prospects, too. They do most of the grunt work, and there might be details that could be crucial for us to know.” 

Bleakly, she stared at the Headmaster, wondering exactly what ‘grunt work’ for Voldemort would be like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out, this isn't meant as Dumbledore-bashing-fic. Hermione is just angry. And so is Ron, for that matter (with good reason, I think).


	5. Becoming a Public Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll have to play your role fully, as a burgeoning dark witch, and people will detest you for it - while the wrong people will learn to love you for it. It’ll be hard, Granger, believe me.”

Dumbledore wasted no time, and by Monday evening she was installed in Snape’s quarters. The removal of her memories was done quickly enough, but Dumbledore requested that he’d keep the vials with her memories. 

“Just in case, Miss Granger,” he said, looking uncommonly serious, as he glanced from her to Professor Snape. 

Staring at the vials with swirling white mist, as the Headmaster gently placed them inside an ornately carved wooden cabinet in his office, she felt an acute sense of loss. Her head felt odd, like there were holes burrowing through her brain where knowledge and memories should have been, and she disliked it intensely.  _ Yes, she wanted to know everything, but she understood the reasoning. Whatever those holes in her mind represented, it was something dangerous, something related to the Order business.  _

“In due time, I expect you’ll have them back, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said to her, the twinkle in his eyes gone in favour of compassion. “I know this is uncomfortable, but if you work diligently with Professor Snape, we’ll bring him down faster.” 

Reluctantly, she nodded, and left the Head’s office, following a scowling Professor Snape down into the dungeons. He walked fast, black robes flapping around him, and she was almost running behind him to keep up.  _ Not much of a boyfriend act,  _ she thought scornfully,  _ if anyone saw us now, they would believe I was on my way to detention.  _ A small, hysterical giggle pressed itself out of her chest, sounding almost like a hiccup, as she realized:  _ In a way, I am on my way to detention. A full-time detention with Professor Snape, lasting days and nights!  _

He cast her a disdainful look, suddenly stopping in front of a stone wall, lifting his wand. 

Nothing marked the spot, and she wondered how she’d get in. 

Grudgingly, Professor Snape adjusted his wards to her, and taught her the password. “It’s  _ Lilium Martagon,” _ he said curtly. 

Hermione frowned. “The dragon lily?” she asked, finding the choice of password curious. 

Her Professor shot her a venomous look. “ _ You  _ would know that, wouldn’t you,” he mumbled. 

The stone wall parted, stones sliding soundlessly apart, making a romanesque arch, wide enough to let them both pass. “Don’t ever, ever let another student in here,” he hissed as they entered. 

“Of course not,” she said despondently, wondering who’d visit her.  _ All her friends would hate her, very soon. _

The stone walls were covered by deep shelves filled with books and tomes,  _ which was a good thing _ , she thought approvingly, and the fireplace was enormous. She supposed, it was made for comfortable Flooing, accommodating more than one person at the time. On the other hand, the room was drab and cold, with a stone floor, vaulted stone ceiling and no windows. In front of the fireplace, there were two black leather chairs, looking well-used and comfortable. 

He pointed out three doors, one leading to a large bathroom with a tub and a shower, another to his private lab and the last one to the bedroom.  _ And therein was the problem _ . 

“It’s your choice, Miss Granger,” he shrugged. “Either you can Transfigure one of the chairs into a sofa and sleep in here, or you can sleep in my bed. The bed is certainly large enough, we won’t even notice one another. Before you decide, be aware, House-elves tend to gossip. If we do not sleep in the same bed, people will know we’re not really together.” 

“This isn’t really a choice, is it?” she grumbled, and he nodded. 

“Quite right. Besides, I’m not going to touch you, you’ll be quite safe.” Quirking a brow at her, he continued: “Who knows, maybe the Dark Lord would kill me for it, if not Minerva?” 

Xxxx

“You did what?!” 

Harry looked like he had fallen down from the moon, and Ron’s skin colour was reaching an unhealthy shade of red. 

“I moved in with Snape,” she said, trying to look unabashed. 

“Why in Merlin’s shaggy balls would you do something bat shit crazy like that?” 

Ron’s voice was almost a yell, and the colour of his face was close to puce. 

They were in the Great Hall, having dinner, and the lack of clattering from knives and forks around them told her, all of Gryffindor Tower was now listening in.  _ Maybe even the other Houses.  _

They had been staring earlier too, but that was merely because she had aged. They were told in class, unceremoniously, that she had had a magical accident, but still, lots of students had been staring during the day. Boys had been shooting her new curves furtive looks, while girls had looked at her speculatively, probably wondering if she had taken the opportunity to enhance her breasts, as it was rumoured she had done exactly that with her teeth a few years ago. 

“I wanted to,” she said, lying out of her teeth. 

“Did HE want to?” Harry said incredulously, like Hermione somehow had managed to browbeat an unwilling teacher to let her move in with him, especially if that teacher was Severus Snape. 

She almost sniggered at the thought, but answered calmly: “Of course. We’ve been shagging for weeks.” 

“You’ve been shagging bloody Snape?” Ron bellowed, and now, she was certain everyone in the Hall had stopped eating. Including the teachers. 

The silence felt much too loud in her ears, and she tried to force down her blush as she confirmed it: “Yes.” 

The gasps were travelling around the hall, and she heard people whispering, scandalized: “Did she just say she was SHAGGING Snape?” 

She glanced at the Head table, seeing Snape continue to eat, like nothing had happened. His face was just as impassive as always, his hair just as lank, and he ate as fastidiously as he always did, blotting his mouth with a napkin after finishing his soup. For a brief moment, his black eyes met hers, and to her horror and surprise, he gave her a lascivious leer. 

The other teachers stared at him, whispering amongst themselves, including McGonagall. Bitterly, she realized that also his reputation would be further ruined by this. To her knowledge, there had never been any rumours of him doing anything inappropriate with a student. Likely, that was because no one had ever thought any student would dare to touch him. Now, he’d be blamed as a grown man going after a teenaged girl.  _ Maybe it was a good thing, then, that she had aged up like this.  _

Ron slammed his fist on the table, and Harry whispered, bewildered: “Is this some kind of new mission, Hermione? If so, I think you should say no. This is … asking too much of you.” 

It killed her to look Harry straight in the eyes, saying: “No. This is what  _ I _ want.” 

Xxxx 

Later that evening, she had tea in front of the fireplace with Professor Snape. 

“Your performance at dinner was very convincing,” he said, sipping his black tea. No milk for him, just strong tea, steeped far longer than Hermione would ever have imagined. As he drank, she noticed, in a relaxed state, his lips weren’t as thin and compressed as she usually saw him.  _ In fact, his mouth looked … nice.  _

The Earl Grey blend was delicious, with just the perfect hint of bergamot oil, but even tea couldn’t really console her feelings. 

“The rest of the teachers will give me grief to no end for seducing a student, especially everyone’s favourite, the Gryffindor Golden Girl. You shouldn’t have had to be so blunt about it, you know, but I suppose your friends wouldn’t get the hint if you were more subtle,” he sneered.

“Thanks, I guess,” she replied curtly, the cold dismissal in Harry’s eyes and Ron’s fury still felt like a fresh cut to her skin, her pain still acute like a throbbing wound. 

Snape continued, looking only at his book: “You’ll have to play your role fully, as a burgeoning dark witch, and people will detest you for it - while the wrong people will learn to love you for it. It’ll be hard, Granger, believe me.” 

“I guess you’re right,” she sighed. “It’s just that … the rumours, the gossip … it’s going to feel like hell.” 

“Therein lies the motivation for you to join him. He has to feel your pain, your feeling of unfairness for your situation, and that’s what will make him believe you’ve turned,” Snape pointed out. 

“Won’t this put you in danger? He’ll know you’re a double agent from my mind.” 

“No, Granger,” he said, “he’ll merely believe I’ve fooled you. Besides, I’m going to teach you Occlumency, and I won’t bring you to him before I know you have at least a rudimentary grasp on hiding the important memories, and certainly not before your reputation is well and truly smeared. He won’t dig too deep, because you are readily going to show him close to everything the Order has ever said and done when you’ve been around. The only thing you’ll be hiding, is the fact that you, yourself are a double agent. And if you feel enough anger at the Order, he won’t probe.” 

“But…,” she began, but Snape shook his head. 

“My final point is, he trusts  _ me _ . Now shut up, Granger, and do your homework. Afterwards, you’ll read this book on Occlumency, ‘Protecting the Mind’ by Herman the Hermit. We’ll start practising tomorrow.” 

Xxxx

Later that evening, she wandered into the bedroom, proudly wearing her red Gryffindor Quidditch shirt.  _ Sharing a bed with Snape… It seemed like something out of a nightmare. Suddenly discovering you were naked in a room full of people, being chased by dragons, spending the night with Professor Snape: each scene was equally uncomfortable and unbelievable, and yet, here she was. At least, she’d go through with it in this small, but silly act of defiance.  _

He was lying on the bed, one arm behind his neck and the other grasping a book. Raising his head to look at her, he glared at her. Predictably, he barked: “Are you going to sleep in  _ that?” _

“I usually do,” she mumbled, but she was thrown off track, her carefully prepared taunt forgotten, as she noticed his sleepwear - or the lack of it. 

_ The man was evidently planning to sleep in black pyjamas bottoms, and nothing else.  _

To her great surprise, Severus Snape had quite the torso. He was thin, but his arms were sinewy and strong, and his stomach had a hint of six-pack muscles. The hair on his stomach and chest were black, and she decided, just the right amount: Not too little, and not too much, making him look masculine and strong.  _ This _ , she decided,  _ was a good-looking upper body.  _

“Stop staring, Granger, this is inappropriate!” he snapped, and to her surprise, his cheeks were a little flushed. 

“Sorry, sir,” she said, and before she knew it, her curiosity took over: “Do you work out, sir?” 

Shocked, she covered her mouth with her hand.  _ Her face flaming, she wondered if she had taken leave of her senses. Ogling him must have turned her brain into mush.  _

“Granger,” he said acidly, arching an eyebrow arrogantly: “I stir cauldrons daily. I’ve done so for years.”

“Oh!” she said, before desperately trying to shift his attention to something else -  _ something not involving her drooling at her teacher’s half-naked body:  _ “Professor Slughorn taught us a self-stirring spell, sir. Don’t you use that?” 

“Of course not,” he said indignantly, taking the bait, “and Slughorn knows better too. He’s getting sloppy in his old age. A true master never use such cheap spells. How else would you control every bubble and breath in your cauldron, if you lazed around, letting a bespelled stick do your work? Though, for you dunderheads, it might actually be useful, as not a single one of you will brew like a master. At least not for years.” 

“I see, sir,” she said abashed, hanging her head. 

He smirked wickedly at her. “Now, get into bed. I promise to keep to my side.” 

As she looked down on herself, her shirt had been Transfigured into a sleek, green silk nightdress, with silver trimmings. His eyes might have lingered at little on her hips as she crawled up into the bed, but if he did, she felt it was a justified payback for her own ogling.

“Good night, sir,” she mumbled, as he wandlessly plunged the room into darkness. 

“Sleep well, Granger,” he said tiredly. Still it took a long time before he was asleep, as she could hear rustling from the sheets as he turned in bed. 

  
  


Xxxx

“Your fall will be swift and deep,” Snape had prophesied.  _ And it was true _ .

Rumour were fleeing rampant through the wizarding world of Hermione Granger’s new conquest, and within the week, Rita Skeeter had written an article about ‘the Granger Collection’. Skeeter proposed the theory that Snape had given her an aging potion because he didn’t fancy teenagers, preferring adult women. The article even hinting at her being had by the Dark Lord himself, wherever she had gotten that particular piece of information from.  _ Hermione strongly suspected Dumbledore.  _

She blanched when she saw the front page that morning, and suddenly, there was a large space beside her on the Gryffindor bench, the first years she had been sitting beside vacating the area, and then someone landed a glob of spit in her oats. A hissing whisper of “Granger, the Death Eater Slut” went around the table, and she forced back her tears by staring straight at Albus Dumbledore’s face. He glanced at her, quite unaffected, before he tutted at her, shaking the paper in the air at her, like he was displeased. 

Ron and Harry had largely ignored her, pretending she didn’t exist after their quarrel in the Great Hall. This morning, it was actually a relief when Professor Snape came down from the Head table to escort her out of the Great Hall to her first lesson. Then, in the middle of the Hall, he pinched her bum, making her squeak, and shocked gasps rose all around them. 

_ Merlin, he’s really going to grope me in public,  _ she realized. Correctly enough, just outside the Great Hall, but still in full view, he bent over her, kissing her full on the lips, while grabbing her bum lustily. 

“That’ll do it,” he mumbled as he quickly ended the kiss. She just stared up at him, feeling like she had become lost in a surreal dream, before she touched her lips lightly, as if to make certain it had really happened. 

His lips -  _ too soft for such a stern man,  _ she thought - tugged into a small smile, and he whispered: “That felt as strange for me as for you, girl.” 

In the following days, she experienced people literally shunning her, though a few boys propositioned her as a ‘filthy Death Eater whore,’ obviously thinking she must be up for grabs. 

The first was a seventh year Ravenclaw, a big burly fellow, pressing her up against the wall in a deserted corridor. He smelled of sweat, the not-too-clean smell of teenage boys, and he groped her breasts through her robe, panting with excitement. 

“You’ve become such a whore, Granger, I’m sure you’ll show me a good time too. That’s better than the bat of the dungeons, isn’t it? A living, breathing man fucking you hard…” 

The words choked on his tongue, as she had wordlessly cast a Swelling Spell on his mouth, the jinx making his tongue and mouth grow to obscene proportions. 

Shoving him off her, he fell, laying on the stone floor, choking on his tongue, his face growing almost purple before she let the spell go. 

“Don’t try anything like that again. Ever,” she said quietly, holding his gaze. He was breathing in great, heaving gasps, and nodded fervently as he crept away, coughing. 

Something similar happened a few more times over the next few days, until the rumour had spread that crossing the dark, adult Hermione Granger could be  _ dangerous.  _ She had taken the opportunity to Curse them rather nastily, and in the end, the Headmaster summoned her to his office for threatening and cursing other students. What happened was, of course, that Dumbledore congratulated her on her convincing performance as a dark witch. 

Xxxx

On Saturday, there was an Order meeting, held at 12 Grimmauld Place. She knew, the purpose was to discuss her development to slander her even further for the rest of the Order and to publicly kick her out, thus having steeled herself for being treated badly. 

“This isn’t true,” Molly Weasley protested, laying her hands on Hermione’s frail shoulders. “She’s a good girl, and what that Skeeter bint wrote, is just not true.” 

“That’s right, Albus,” Mr. Weasley chimed in, standing beside his wife behind Hermione’s chair. “You cannot believe that our Hermione would do this, even though she and … Severus,” his voice faltered a little, “unconventially enough, has fallen in love.” 

Professor Snape was behind her in the corner, invisible to her, and all Hermione could see, was a sea of unblinking, unfriendly eyes glaring at her. Tonks frowned, Lupin glowered, Moody was sitting on the edge of his chair, obviously ready to hex her, and Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at her with a disbelieving disgust in his usually warm, brown eyes.

George and Fred Weasley seemed to feel a strong revulsion for her, pretending to gag as they met her eyes, and Fleur tutted at her, shaking her head with disappointment. Bill Weasley merely stared at the floor like he wanted to be anywhere else, and her two teachers in the know, Dumbledore and McGonagall, stared unflinching at her, their faces very serious. Mundungus Fletcher  _ leered  _ at her, and she looked quickly away from him. 

“But it  _ is  _ true,” Ron said scathingly, “she shagged Voldemort, in 1955. She Time-travelled, met him, and then she just jumped into bed with him.” 

The outcry was violent, and she forced herself to sit still, to take the abuse heaped upon her. 

Then Dumbledore told the rest of the Order a story of why she had been visiting the past, saying that she was to get a book that might help them defeat Voldemort. The book was supposed to be in a nunnery, and the cloister had burned down in 1956. 

Strongly suspecting this wasn’t the truth -  _ why else take her memories, if he was to reveal it later on? -  _ she glanced at Ron and Harry, but realized, Dumbledore must have tampered with their memories too. They both nodded to his story, looking unperturbed at what the Headmaster spouted to the Order. 

Finally opening her mouth to defend herself, she said: “I had to shag him. He was the only one who could fix my broken Time-Turner, and that was his price for helping me.” 

“As if!” Ron scoffed. “No, we know the truth. You met him, and then you jumped at the opportunity to shag your bloody dark  _ idol _ !” 

She gasped at the blatant unfairness of that statement, and then Molly said, her voice now wavering: “Poor girl, she might look she’s in her twenties now, but remember, she’s still seventeen on the inside.” 

She was grateful -  _ forever thankful for Molly to believe in her _ \- but Ron broke in, saying: “Everyone knows there’s magical significance in who’s your first lover. I think this is telling a lot about her.” 

The derailment of the discussion saved her, at least for now, for personally breaking the trust Molly had in her.  _ Because she was to play along. Her task today was to let the Order believe she had become untrustworthy.  _

From behind her, Snape suddenly interjected: “That’s true.” She turned her head, and saw him cast a fleeting look at Harry, before smirking at Lupin. “Or what do  _ you  _ believe, Wolf? The first time is more significant than the rest, eh?”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone,” Remus Lupin snarled, glancing too-quickly at Harry too, and Ron gasped, shocked: “Not the two of you?” 

Both men stopped in their tracks, looking horrified, and both shook their head equally vehemently. Lupin said hastily: “Nothing against gays, mind you, but never, never ever  _ him _ .” 

Hermione stared at Snape, wondering what this had been about, thinking about how they had looked at Harry. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she wondered if it had anything to do with Harry’s parents.  _ Maybe his Mum, knowing that Lupin and Snape had gone to Hogwarts with her. Or maybe it was his Dad? Lupin hadn’t really ruled out men in his answer, only Snape. And as for Snape?  _ Internally, she shrugged, having no idea as to his sexual likes or dislikes. 

Then Dumbledore cleared his throat, and turned the discussion back on track to today’s agenda, namely the dark, dubious and traitorous behaviour of one Hermione Granger. Snape held a rather weak defense for his supposed girlfriend, and her own appeal was vague too, admitting to reading up on Dark Magic and not knowing how much Voldemort had read in her mind. 

It all ended with Dumbledore physically Banning her from the Secret-kept Grimmauld Place, because of the liability she had proven to be.

The Headmaster lifted his one good arm grandly, pointing at her, before he intoned: “I revoke Hermione Jean Granger’s access to 12 Grimmauld Place!!” 

“Oh, goodie, I’ve always wanted to see what happened if one withdrew the permission,” one of the Weasley twins said gleefully. 

A magical wind rose, lifting Hermione up, sweeping her from the kitchen, through the entrance hall with a hysterical portrait of Walburga Black shrieking “ _ Filth! Filth! Mudblood filth!” _ and then she was magically thrown out of the house, landing hard on her bum in the street.  _ The Order had, indeed, kicked her out.  _ As a camera flashed nearby, she also knew, the Prophet was here to record it. 

Xxxx

That night, she was sniffling as quietly as she could, face hidden behind a large tome. There weren’t many places for her to be alone, she realized. The bathroom, or else, her choices were the bedroom and the living room. Snape at least, could escape to his lab or to his office. 

Right now, he was, annoyingly enough, sitting in the chair opposite her, hindering her in having a good cry. He was reading, and she could only see the top of his greasy, black hair behind the book. 

After a while, he lowered his book, staring at her, before he said tiredly: “Oh, blast it, come here, girl.” To her great surprise, he opened his arms to her, indicating that she should come to him. 

_ He was her only friend right now, as no one else would give her the time of the day.  _ That thought brought a fresh burst of tears on, and slowly, she rose from her chair, creeping up into his lap, curling into his body, crying her heart out. 

“There, there,” he whispered, “these real emotions are the ones you will show the Dark Lord. The feeling of being betrayed, of being an outcast, of being shut out and despised. Feel it, remember how awful this is. Remember your pain.” 

Her crying didn’t stop, and after a while, he lifted her up easily, carrying her into the bedroom, and put her down on the bed. Staring at her red, puffy face for a moment, he shed most of his clothing, before laying down beside her, tucking her into his arms, her head resting on his broad chest. Slowly, she quieted, falling asleep after a long time. 

Xxxx

Next evening, she did her homework in front of the fire, lying down on the floor with her books spread around her. After the Prophet’s four-pages display of her being literally kicked out of the Order, she wanted to avoid all the staring in the library. 

Snape sat in his chair, nipping at a glass of Firewhisky, at times frowning at her growing heap of parchment, in the end saying snidely: “I hope I’m not to mark that, Granger. Have you ever heard of restraining yourself? You know, you don’t have to write everything you know in each and every essay.” 

Giving an irritated shrug, her mind moved to the odd exchange between him and Lupin. Taking a chance, remembering he had been friends with Harry’s mother before Hogwarts, she asked: “What was that thing about you and Harry’s mother, and why doesn’t Lupin want anyone to know?” 

“What? How do you know about me and Lily?” he said, flabbergasted. 

She smirked at him. “Just a guess. Since you confirmed it, why don’t you tell me?” 

To her surprise, he gave her a sardonic smile in return. “It’s a sweet little tale of young love, which Lupin wants to bury deep. I knew Lily before Hogwarts, as we were almost neighbours. We were good friends, but the summer when we were fifteen, we … experimented, if I may say so. Shagging in any position, anywhere, at all times of the day and night.”

Her jaw dropped, as her Professor stared out in space, a dreamy look on his face. 

“Ah, those were the times… I brewed her Contraceptives, and as I stirred, she …” 

Glancing at her, he barked a short laugh, continuing: “Oh well, you didn’t ask for details, but for a fifteen year old wizard, it was a dream come true. Autumn came, we were back at Hogwarts, she wanted to be popular, and I wanted to be a dark wizard. Then we had a falling out.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace, like he was deliberately making light of something that was painful to him. 

“Oh,” she said, having gotten far more information than she’d ever, ever wanted. 

Snape shrugged. “Now she’s dead, and it’s one of my greatest regrets,” he continued with bitter self-deprecation. “As for Lupin… well, he believes in that absolute drivel some Pure-bloods spouts, believing that your first partner is so very significant. I can tell you, Granger, that this is bloody nonsense, whether your first experience was a nightmare…” he paused, giving her a quick glance, “... or heaven, like mine.” 

She looked down, realizing that Snape believed Voldemort had forced her, and quite brutally so.  _ She could never, ever share with a single soul that she had orgasmed with Lord Voldemort. Never. If she told Snape, even he would look askance at her.  _

“However,” his smirk came back, “I took the opportunity to give the Marauders a little trip down my memory lane at Potter’s bachelor party. By calling in some favours, I managed to get a House-elf to place a pensieve with a most vivid memory beside the punch bowl. The wedding was almost off. And  _ this  _ is what Lupin wants to keep a secret.” 


	6. Being a Prospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My, my, Miss Granger, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you.” Voldemort’s eyes flickered, the reddish glint looking like flames swirling, looking her up and down, undressing her with his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets to meet the Dark Lord - again. *grins* 
> 
> And, he's still not nice. You didn't expect him to be, did you?

After three weeks with Occlumency lessons and public despisal, Snape deemed her ready to meet Voldemort.

“Remember, never try to hide anything from him if he uses Legilimency on you. It’ll take you a long time before you can even think about withstanding him, and maybe you’ll never manage it. Instead, push forward memories like we’ve been practising. Distract him with emotions, deflect him with memories of people that interest him.” 

She nodded, still feeling nervous, though he had told her, she was becoming quite good. 

Giving her a small smile - something she’d never thought she’d see on the dour Professor’s face, he continued: “We need to Apparate through several steps, due to security measures from the Dark Lord. Our first goal is Hogsmeade. Can you hit the alley behind Zonko’s?” he asked, and she nodded. 

Concentrating on practising her soundless Apparition, she arrived in Hogsmeade a split second behind Snape. He gave her a queer look, and then he announced that they would Apparate to London, the Apparition point beside the Leaky Cauldron, from where he’d Side-Along her to two more Apparition points, before reaching Malfoy Manor. 

The house was built in dark, green sandstone, with two large wings with turrets on each side. The windows, however, looked dark, and the whole property seemed a bit gloomy and neglected. 

As they walked up to the imposing house, the gravel crunching beneath their boots, he commented, his eyes firmly locked on the rose bushes framing the walk: “Your silent Apparition will cause a stir among the Death Eaters. Did the Dark Lord teach you soundless Apparition?” 

“Sort of,” she said absently, her mind fixed on what could happen at the meeting. 

At that, Snape stopped, taking hold of her shoulders.

“Granger,” he hissed, “why did he do that? He has never, to my knowledge, taught any Death Eater how he does it! Is there something you’re not telling us? I don’t want to go blind in here, not knowing what you and the Dark Lord were up to!”

Swallowing, she tried to take a step back, Snape suddenly seeming like the looming, terrifying teacher of her childhood again, but his grip was too strong. _Though, she supposed, he was right to worry. If she had conspired with Voldemort in the past, he might very well die in there, exposed as a traitor._

Shaking her head, she said: “He just briefly explained the theory, and I figured it out. He was ever so surprised.” 

Snape made a choked sound, and from the shaking of his chest, she understood he was laughing. “He has always refused to tell anyone how he does it. Maybe it’s because he met you, Little Miss Know-It-All?” 

Mirthlessly, he shrugged: “I suppose that’s what impressed him so much. Or else, you are just really, really good in bed, Granger.” 

She blushed instantly, as her teacher - _now roommate and pretend lover_ \- gave her a somewhat loop-sided leer. 

Xxxx

“My, my, Miss Granger, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you.” Voldemort’s eyes flickered, the reddish glint looking like flames swirling, looking her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. 

His expression made her squirm as she knelt in front of him. The monster in front of her grinned knowingly at her obvious discomfort, while the present twenty or so black-cloaked Death Eaters snickered. Even the reassuring knowledge that her Professor was standing just behind her, like her guardian and protector, didn’t ease her nerves. 

The room was grand, and she supposed, it would have been a formal dining room. There was a long table with many high-backed chairs, but right now, the people in the room were all standing in a half-circle around their Lord and her own, kneeling form. She tried to fix her eyes on the dark, polished floor, but unwillingly, her eyes slid up to the monstrosity in front of her. 

The Dark Lord looked nothing alike the stunningly beautiful man that had taken her virginity. Voldemort was pasty pale, and his skin oddly mottled, like a snake. The lack of a nose was an even more disturbing feature than the red eyes, making his completely bald head and lack of eyebrows neglectable in comparison. His lips were drawn out into a sneer, showing off cracked, yellow teeth. Still, he excuded so much power, it made her tingle all over, like the room was charged with electricity. _She could literally feel his magic, beating against her brain like the heartbeat of a large predator, pulsing with dark menace and the bright promise of knowledge and mastery._

“I must ask, why have you come to me?” His voice was cold, but with a tinge of curiosity. 

Kneeling at his feet, in the large, darkened room in the once-glorified manor, she answered: “Revenge, my Lord. ”

Glancing up at him, ignoring the whispers of “Mudblood, she’s a filthy little Mudblood,” from his followers, she added: “After what happened, my Lord, they threw me out, quite bodily. I want revenge, and what better way to achieve it than by supporting you, my Lord?” 

He shrugged, his black cloak rustling, and said: “What was your task back then? Tell me, witch.” 

She answered honestly: “I don’t know. They took my memories when they threw me out.” 

“Hmm.” A flicker of displeasure went through his face, and she stiffened under his glare. 

Hurriedly, she added: “And I want to learn, my Lord. Learn things I cannot learn in school.”

“Such as?” he challenged, red eyes boring into her. 

She gave him a small smile, before saying: “Everything.” 

Voldemort nodded slowly at that, cold eyes assessing her, judging her worth, _weighing her intentions._ “True,” he said at last, “you _do_ want to know everything.” 

Turning to Snape, he said: “Bringing her in, under the cover that she’s your witch to induct her in private, was very clever of you. You’ll be rewarded, and the Board of Hogwarts have been silenced, as you requested.” 

He looked back at her, making the decision: “You’ll have your chance to prove yourself as a prospect, Granger. Until next time, prepare yourself to show off your combat skills.” 

Xxxx

  
“Please, Professor, I need to find out what the ritual I participated in did for him. Come with me to the Restricted Section to help me search, please?” 

She had wheedled for a long time, requesting Professor Snape’s help to find the ritual in which Voldemort had taken her virginity. She had a hunch, it was important to know. _Because, it had seemed important to Voldemort at the time, and all scraps of knowledge was important. It could help them win._ At the same time, she marvelled at the fact that she dared to try _wheedling_ Severus Snape into anything at all. _Things had certainly changed._

Snape had shrugged, admittedly having no idea to what the spell from the ritual might be. In the end, he gave in, sneaking her out of his chambers and into the library. On their walk over to the library, he kept up a low, steady complaint: “My reputation will be destroyed if anyone knew I helped a student out at night”.

After the tenth time, she huffed: “They’ll only believe you’re about to fuck your girlfriend in the library.” 

Stopping short, he cast her a side-long glance, before he rolled his eyes: “Granger, don’t tell me you’re fantasizing about _that_?” 

“No,” she gasped, scandalized, even if it was her that had voiced the idea. “Books are precious! What if one spilled something - anything - on them!” 

Snape laughed, shaking his head: “You’re such a swot,” he said, but the familiar slur sounded almost fond. 

Their search went on for quite some time, even with a nifty spell Snape showed her on how to Summon books using keywords and key phrases. In the end, she found a spellbook listing the ritual. 

Looking at it, her eyes widened, and she motioned Snape to read it over her shoulder. 

The tall man leaned in over her shoulder, long black hair brushing the skin on her neck, tickling her, and then he whispered: “Fuck, Granger. No wonder he was keen on seeing you again!” 

She sat stock still, not believing her eyes. 

The book was from the beginning of the sixteenth century, and it clearly stated, that the wizard who received the benefit from the spell, would be sexually bound to the witch for reaching the highest peaks of ecstasy, getting only weak and bland orgasms with any other person. Thus, the spell meant to protect the witch sacrificing her virginity, by making the wizard stick with her to achieve better orgasms. 

“It was made for those times when a witch without her virginity was ruined,” Snape said almost reverently. “This means, the Dark Lord has had subpar orgasms since 1955, because he hasn’t had access to _you_.” He suddenly snickered, shaking his head, before mumbling “poor man. Well, he probably knew what he was doing, sacrificing much of his pleasure doing this ritual, achieving Merlin knows what.” 

Hermione sat completely still, feeling shell-shocked, because this meant that Voldemort was planning to shag her. _Again._

Xxxx

Her days at school were just like before, and yet not at all. Her old friends pretended she didn’t exist, and she sat alone in all classes in the beginning, doing her homework partly in the library, and when the whispering and staring became too much, she haughtily packed up her things and departed to do the rest in Snape’s chambers. 

At times, her Professor would actually help her, by pointing out some extra reading that might be useful, but it always came with a complaint about the length of her essays. She even got to watch him brew in his private lab, though she weren’t to touch anything. 

“You could benefit from seeing a more creative approach to Potions,” he huffed, before adding: “Higher level potions demand more than regurgitating the textbook, you know,” but there was no malice in his words, anymore. 

She merely smiled at him, her legs dangling from the high stool she sat on, as she watched him stir a steaming cauldron of Essence of Insanity, the end product destined for the Dark Lord’s use. To her surprise, she found that her dour Professor looked _interesting._ Standing there in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, the intensity in his expression as he handled the ingredients and the brew, plus the muscles of his bare arms flexing as he stirred the sluggish potion, made for quite a striking sight. 

Little by little, new people started talking to her. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, some Slytherins - and one or two Gryffindors. Snape told her quietly, these students had Death Eater parents, or were associated with the Dark Lord in some way. 

Only the Slytherins dared to openly sit beside her in class, and when Pansy Parkinson offered to partner with her in Potions, she was close to shell-shocked. The pretty Slytherin just shrugged, and said mischievously: “Some have heard you gained … favour … recently. It’s prudent to ally oneself with those who might be on the rise to influence.” 

She spent her evenings practising Occlumency and dark magic with Snape. He seemed to relish teaching her dark curses and hexes, and in private he started to give her praise, but only if she did exceptionally well. In class, he was still the same git as ever, though she rather thought he went easy on her, compared to others. In a way, she felt they were becoming _partners,_ more than student and Professor. _And she liked that thought._

Pushing his black hair out of his eyes, after a particular hard session of spellcasting, he told her: “When you duel in front of the Dark Lord at your next visit, remember it’s also a show, not only for the Dark Lord, but also for his followers. You need to convince them all you are a powerful witch. So, take especially care to Apparate silently at some point in the duel, because that will leave them speechless.”

“Is dueling, setting his followers up against each other, something he usually does?” she asked, feeling a little worried for being paired up with someone like Antonin Dolohov or Lucius Malfoy, who no doubt would have a lifetime’s arsenal of curses to throw at her. 

He shook his head. “It rarely happens, only in situations like this, when he wants someone to prove their worth. As it is, it’s hardly likely that anyone challenges you outside of this duel, as you are clearly of his interest for the moment. You should know, though, the other Death Eaters are talking about you, wondering how a Muggleborn came to be in such a position. Being a prospect is usually reserved for those who has both family, power and blood status.” 

She shrugged, saying callously: “That’s his problem to explain, not mine.” 

“Soon, it’ll be yours. When Bella discovers that you are more than a passing fancy due to that ritual of yours, she’ll be out to get you,” he said with a small sneer. “She’s always been his favourite, and she won’t tolerate anyone else in that position for long.” 

  


Xxxx

Luckily, at the duel she was paired with a younger Death Eater, a Mark Jugson. He was tall, with light brown hair, strikingly handsome, but she knew, physical strength and size mattered little when it came to magic. Still, Snape had taught her, she should be wary to come within a strong wizard’s grasp. _The memory of the lesson where Snape grabbed her, bodily wrestling her wand out of her hands before pinning her down physically, his wand at her throat, had served as a dire warning for such duels._

She stood, seemingly relaxed, her wand held loosely between her fingers, facing the grinning wizard in front of her. He was obviously not scared of her, and she was determined to prove him wrong. 

Death Eaters circled the pair, whispering, wondering why their Lord had allowed this Mudblood to prove herself in battle, while Voldemourt lounged on his throne-like chair. 

“Begin,” he said lazily, weaving a protective enchantment around the onlookers, to save them from any stray spells. 

The big wizard showed her his teeth, and cast a strong, wordless “ _Bombarda”_ her way. 

Her shouted “ _Protego!”_ was up in an instant, but the Death Eater hadn’t anticipated her silent, simultaneous Reductor Curse, crashing into his shield, but still it sent him careening off the floor, breaking the circle of Death Eaters. Some clapped, while others hooted derisively at Jugson. 

He was on his feet in the blink of an eye, snarling, and she knew, from now on, he’d take her seriously. Deflecting his Severing Charm with her shield, she gave him a lazy, arrogant smile, raining yellow fire down on him in return, followed by a gushing wind to fan the flames. 

Jugson yelped, Apparating with a loud crack!, and suddenly, she didn’t know where he was. Therefore, she strongly suspected he was behind her, probably Disillusioned. 

Pulling her trump card, she Apparated too, silently, and her reappearance on the opposite side of the circle drew shocked gasps from the spectators. Her wand at the ready, she launched a weak Bat-bogey hex in the general direction where she thought Jugson might be, and she was rewarded by a bluish-white flash of his _Protego._

Barely ducking his counterspell, a vicious silent Blasting Curse, the spell singing her head, leaving a whiff of burned hair in the air, before slamming into the barrier the Dark Lord had created around the onlookers with red sparks flying, she pushed a medium strength “ _Expulso”_ at him, before Apparating silently, this time behind him, Stunning him with a simple “ _Stupefy!”_

Jugson lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, only the anger visible in his eyes telling that he was still conscious. 

“Very good, very clever,” Voldemort drawled, before hissing at her, like the gust of a cold wind: “Finish him!”

She suddenly felt so young and insecure, and her eyes sought out Snape, begging for help. _Did she have to kill someone tonight? Was this real?_

Her Professor looked gravely at her, before giving her an imperceptible nod. 

She took a deep breath. _Focus, Hermione, focus_. 

Building her rage from the bottom of her being, she worked herself up: _These people, trying to destroy everything, she would take them down, conquer them, she’d wipe them out, they didn’t deserve it, the world was a better place without them, Jugson was a vermin, deserving to die, deserving to die by_ **_her_ ** _hand…_

Her magic grew, rearing up like a cobra inside her, ready to strike, ready to cut down someone, ready to… The pressure became immense, like she could barely rein it in, her blood rushing, pounding in her ears, overwhelming her, she had to let it out, to release it, she needed to kill this man, wipe him off the face of the earth… 

“Avada Ked..!” 

It felt like a chain yanking her in violently, her mouth Silenced, and then Voldemort’s power restrained hers. Her magic rolled like heavy waves against the bars he had set for her, before subsiding, calming down. Breathing hard, her chest heaving in upheaval, she stood still, staring down at Jugson’s still living, but livid form. 

“Bravo!” Voldemort clapped. “Very convincing, you would have cast an admirable Avada, Granger. You can clearly hold your own in a battle. I was almost tempted to let you go through with it, but young Jugson has his uses.”

But the Death Eaters around them where only whispering about one thing, her silent Apparition. And Snape, his black eyes were shining at her, and then he mouthed with a smile: “Victory.” 

Xxxx

  
After the duel, she was ushered in to Voldemort alone, in his office. She walked in, head high, determined to survive what came next, though her heart was hammering hard.

“You did well,” he said, appraisingly, eyes trailing over her body again, making her uncomfortably aware that this man, this old, evil wizard, might just desire her body. _Very much._

The slits on his face, where his nose should have been, was vibrating, and she had a disturbing thought: _he was smelling her scent._ The mottling on his skin seemed to move, though she conceded it may have been a trick of the flickering lights in the room. 

“Did you find the spell?” he murmured, closing in, towering over her. Immediately, she understood what he meant - _the ritual spell._

“I did,” she said, stating the reference book to him. 

“Very good,” he purred, thin lips fracturing into brief grin. “That’s a _fairly_ reliable source. Then, you know what I want from you.” 

“I understand,” she said quietly, knowing that _she_ didn’t have any beneficial remains of the ritual spell. _She would be dry, not aroused, and as a result, she’d be torn and bruised by the end of this. The Greater Good, she reminded herself, it was all for the Greater Good!_

“You know what to do,” he grated, and she nodded, shedding her robes, standing in her underwear before him. The lacy knickers barely covered her mound, and the lace encasing her breasts left almost nothing to the imagination. _When she had dressed before leaving Hogwarts for this night, the thought had come to mind, maybe it would be over quicker, if she could arouse him before he started the act. Hence, she had pulled out her sexiest lingerie for the occasion. At least, it was worth a try._

Voldemort sucked in a breath, looking at her body, a haze of lust covering his eyes. Without him batting an eyelid, she felt a flick of his magic, Divesting her of her knickers and bra, and he said gratingly: “Bend over.” Obediently, she bent over his desk, her legs shaking. 

She didn’t hear him move, before he was right behind her. “You deserve a reward, this time,” he muttered, and she almost jumped, as his wand grazed her opening. A rush of wetness flooded through her channel, soaking her, and an unwelcome throbbing of arousal started up in her clit. 

Inside, she felt mixed relief and shame. _This would make it better, or at least not painful, but then, becoming aroused by something Voldemort did… again…! It was so wrong, so unbelievably wrong._

Positioning himself behind her, she felt him grasp that thick, jutting thing grazing her backside - _it had to be his erection_ \- pushing it forward to her opening, thrusting inside. The cool silk of his black robes slid against her skin, a contrast to his harsh movements. 

She grunted with pain at the sudden intrusion, his cock quite as large as she remembered, but he moaned: “Witch, yes, you feel so good, girl.”

As he slammed himself into her, she held on to the desk for dear life, or else she would have been pummeled into the wood by his brutal, unforgiving pumping. With no stimulation on her clit, it still felt shockingly good, but she was also happy he didn’t go out of his way to satisfy her. _This arousal was bad enough as it was, and she tried to control her breathing, not letting herself pant or moan._

Whimpering slightly as an especially hard thrust sent her hip bone careening into the edge of the wood, he grunted: “You knew what to expect, witch, I’m not gentle.” A large fist pulled hard at her hair, making her arch her back as he laboured behind her. _So why did her belly clench and tremble around him? It was the spell,_ she reminded herself _, just the spell,_ as her quim clenched around him. 

It was over within minutes, the wizard lodged inside her groaning out curses, as he spasmed, panted and arched up behind her, crushing her hips to him, filling her up with his seed. 

As he rose, she caught a glimpse of his pale body. To her relief, his skin was smooth, and he seemed to be just as muscled and fit as he had been in the fifties. _To herself, she had to admit that she had been worried about sagging, wrinkled skin and the thin, deteriorating muscles of the very old over the last week. Thank Merlin for small mercies,_ she thought _, thankful that at least the body of her 71 year old lover didn’t look his age, no matter how terrible his facial features and surreal his mottled skin was._

Afterwards, he was in a very good mood. _No wonder,_ she thought sardonically _, as he just had his best orgasm in 42 years._

“Later, Severus will take you back to Hogwarts,” he said, black robe open at the front, wandering aimlessly along his deep bookcases, a spring in his step, as he picked out a few books, before depositing them on a small table beside the fireplace. _A little light reading before bedtime,_ she supposed, glancing with curiosity at the books. _What did someone like him read?_ Two of titles were not legible for her to read, one written in the Greek alphabet, another with cyrillic letters, while the third was obviously German. From what she could make of it, it had to be about Mind magic, as the only word she recognized was ‘ _Gedanken_ ’, the author being a witch named Mathilda Kochenwald. The fourth was English, the author’s name obscured by a blot, but the title was ‘ _The Manipulation of Time and Matter_.’ 

“Come here,” he said, sitting down and patting his lap. Blinking at him, she slowly lowered herself to his lap, his chin resting on top of her head. “What will you do after you’ve finished Hogwarts?” 

She almost twitched in surprise, but answered truthfully: “I want to study Arithmancy, but my heart is in Magical Theory. A combination of those for my mastery would be useful.” 

He nodded approvingly. “Magical Theory will, in due time and with diligent work, make you a true master of all subjects. By understanding the roots and foundation of magic, the very core of it, you’ll be able to do more than a wizard merely copying the motions of other’s ideas.” 

Mulling it over, she knew, she hadn’t thought about it that way before. His words rang true, though. 

“How many languages do you know?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

“Err, not that many,” she said nervously, not knowing why he asked. “English, French, Spell Latin, a smattering of Italian…” 

“Hmph. You’ll have to improve. So much gets lost in translation. You’ll start studying Islandic and German,” he announced, and she almost bristled. _When would she find the time for that? Her studies, this spying business, the extra training with Snape…?_

There was a knock on the door, and Professor Snape entered the office. Her Professor gave her a worried glance, before settling into one of the deep chairs in front of the gilded fireplace. 

Suddenly, she realized: _she was on display._ She was sitting naked in Voldemort’s lap, his big, limp cock hanging down along his thighs, and her own legs were being spread apart by his sprawl, one of his sinewy arms holding her close to him, right under her breasts. _She just hoped, he wouldn’t get it up again tonight, or at the very least, only after Snape had vacated the room._

Her Professor, though, glanced coldly and professionally between her parted legs, her red and swollen sex glistening with white seed still dribbling slowly, but steadily out of her. The only thing that belied his interest, was a slight parting of his lips. 

She could feel the muscles in Voldemort’s jaw move against her hair, and she surmised, he might be smirking. 

His voice came out as a satisfied drawl: “I can see _you_ are not getting much out of this situation, Severus. This lovely, little witch is supposed to be your girl, and that hinders you from shagging anyone else, if you are to keep your cover.” 

“That’s right, my Lord,” Snape said tonelessly, “but anything to further my Lord’s cause.” 

The wizard behind her chuckled. “So very sanctimonious of you, Severus. So eager to sacrifice yourself. But I know you, and your Slytherin ambition burns as brightly in you, as in anyone else in my ranks. You are _not_ satisfied.” 

“My Lord,” Snape said, indicating his agreement with a small nod of his head. The lank hair obscured his face for a moment, but when his features became visible again, Hermione could see, it was his usual, impassive expression. 

Behind her, Voldemort cocked his head, before continuing: “If she wishes it, you can fuck her. Though, you are not to come in her cunt. That’s my privilege, and mine only. You might, however, come in her mouth or her arse, if she allows you. I know how you love to ream a nice, firm arse.” 

Professor Snape blinked, before he again bowed his head. “My Lord is gracious. I’m honoured.” 

Hermione stiffened in shock. _She was to be passed around, then? Had Snape lied to her about that? And in her arse…?! It was absolutely out of the question!_

_Then it dawned upon her, Voldemort had said: ‘If she wishes it … if she allows it…’ Clearly, she had a choice in the matter, but it was still shocking._

“Now,” the Dark Lord said silkily to her, “you are going to tell us _all_ about Harry Potter. I mean _everything_ , from your assessment of his magical strength and knowledge, his character traits, what he does in his spare time, the girls he favours, and to the colour of his favourite socks. Everything you know, little witch.” 

She shivered, as his hands trailed across her stomach to fondle the underside of her breasts - _Snape watching the movements of his hands closely_ \- and she started her career as a double spy by telling the Dark Lord about her former best friend. 

Xxxx

Later that night, back at Hogwarts, she couldn’t hold back her tears, as Snape handed her another Contraceptive, as well as a double Pain-Killing potion. “I suppose you need it,” he sighed, brushing her hair away from her face. “You did well, girl. So very good.” 

He held her, that night, not saying a word, but she was grateful that he didn’t make a move at her, even though their master had given him express permission. 


	7. The Dark Lord's Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has tea with the Dark Lord.

Her next visit took place the very next day, in the morning, even before they had had time to make their report. This time, there was no ‘reward’ for her, but then again, it wasn’t necessary. 

The Dark Lord unceremoniously pushed her down on her knees, parted his robes, and stuffed his hard, throbbing cock inside her mouth. She gagged, but it seemed to excite him, making him thrust harder against the back of her throat. 

Tears pooled in her eyes, and he said hoarsely, hips still thrusting into her: “You look pretty when you cry.” 

She tried to force him away from her throat, back into the front of her mouth, by using both her lips and her tongue, and by bracing her hands on his thighs. But he pushed relentlessly forward, grabbing her head for leverage, before coming in great spurts down her throat. 

Blinking furiously, she tried to wipe off her tears, while swallowing the bitter fluid filling her mouth. 

He stumbled back with a groan: “You’re exquisite, Granger. Next time, I’ll reward you. You’ll enjoy that, my little slut.” 

On her knees, with all her clothes on and his taste on her tongue, she said meekly: “Thank you, my Lord.” On the inside, she cursed Albus Dubledore to hell and back for his silly ideas. _Doing this, catering to a megalomaniacs sexual fantasies about a girl fifty years younger than him, was preposterous. She was whoring herself out to Lord Voldemort, for crying out loud, for little scraps and bits of information, and so far, she hadn’t learned a thing!_

The wizard in front of her sighed heavily. “You know what this does for me, girl. This bond … is worth it.” 

Her curiosity winning out, though this could very well be a stupid, dangerous question, she asked: “You could have rid yourself from it, couldn’t you, by removing me?” _The book she had found, said nothing about the wizard killing the witch afterwards._

He snorted, still in a good mood, she judged, his red eyes glimmering with something close to mirth. “I wish. For me to keep a pet Mudblood around, no matter the fact that you are an accomplished witch… Oh well. If you had consulted the ‘ _Magicae Obscuro’_ by Lucretia Vonello too, instead of settling for just the one reference, you would have known. Always examine more references, girl, and that goes especially if the text is old and the magic dangerous. Vonello would have told you, if I make any move against you resulting in your death, the effect of the ritual will be revoked. As the ritual was necessary to strengthen me for later experiments of the more ... taxing… kind on my body, mind and soul, I cannot risk that.” 

He paused, looking at her with an unreadable expression, before he told her: “Frankly, Granger, I think the effect of this ritual is what kept me alive when Potter got his scar.” 

Blinking up at him, still on her knees, there was a rushing sound in her ears. _Had her ritual with Voldemort made sure he didn’t die when he tried to kill baby Harry? Was this, the Second Wizarding War, all her fault? This was a piece of valuable information, but not something she’d want to relate to Dumbledore. It was her fault, she would have to fix this, alone, by being a good spy for the Order._ There was a nagging feeling in her gut, like there was something she had forgotten, but she brushed it all away. _She was responsible, she would fix her own mess - and the world’s._

She merely nodded to her new ‘master’, the guilt and blame sitting heavily in her stomach. 

Voldemort gave her his horrid grin, before saying silkily: “Don’t get too cocky, girl. There are plenty of ways I can hurt you, besides killing you. The ritual sets no limits to the wizard torturing the witch.” 

She froze in the process of getting up, and her breath caught. _Gods, no, I hope he won’t be torturing me. Isn’t this enough, having him fuck me?_

He turned abruptly around, pacing along this shelves, before handing her a few books. “Read these. You’ll need them to understand the principles of magic correctly.” 

Flabbergasted, she stared at the books in his large hand. Marion Ramshead’s ‘ _C_ _ounting the future, Arithmancy Resolved’_ , Bill Gleswiggan’s ‘ _Principles on Life_ ’ as well as Jean Pettmankin’s ‘ _Death by Magical Accidents_ ’, were all priceless and forbidden, because of the heavy influence of Dark Magic suffusing the books. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” she murmured. 

“Just read them,” he said, voice neutral, or in fact almost friendly, she thought. 

After a few minutes of her turning the books in her hand, reverently, perusing the introductions, her eyes moving greedily over the pages, he called for Snape. 

To her Professor, Voldemort said callously: “I can’t do the cuddling afterwards, like most witches seem to need. You take care of her afterwards from now on.” 

At that, Snape glanced at them, and Hermione was sure what he was thinking. _Because, Voldemort had held her last night. Snape had witnessed it, and she had felt the strong arms of their evil Lord around her for quite some time._

Xxxx

“I see,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, while McGonagall clasped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. 

The bright noon sunshine shone through the mullioned windows, making dappled patterns on the oaken floor. 

Together with Snape, she had just made her report, and she felt extremely uncomfortable, though any details of her sexual encounters had been omitted. 

McGonagall shook her head. “Albus,” she said firmly, “this is too much. We simply cannot ask Hermione to do this. To be You-Know-Who’s sexual plaything, it’s awful. Immoral, Albus, that’s what it is. Making her do this, makes us just as bad as he is!” 

“Oh, not quite, Minerva,” Dumbledore said heavily. “I admit, I had hoped his preoccupation with blood status would have kept Tom from doing ... this.” 

“I told you,” Snape snarled, black eyes flashing at his superior, “he wouldn’t care that much for her blood status. I _told_ you, he would do this!” 

“Yes, you did, Severus,” Dumbledore said sadly, “and we were prepared for the worst. Still, one could only hope.” Looking to Hermione, he said kindly: “I admit this is a tough sacrifice, and one I shouldn’t be asking of you. Still, I do ask that you continue.” 

“Albus!” Minerva said, shock in her voice, but the old Headmaster continued: 

“We’ve never had anyone this close to Tom before, and he might be prone to let his guard down in such situations, letting more slip out. Befriend him, Hermione, and do what he asks, make him trust you.” 

She shared a glance with Snape. He grimaced, before saying reluctantly: “There’s much to gain, but I also believe this is asking too much. Remember, Albus, though she may look a woman grown, she’s still only seventeen.” 

Dumbledore furrowed his bushy, white brows, but continued to stare questioningly at Hermione, not saying a word. 

Snape shook his head in disbelief, and turning to her, he asked gently: “Granger, can you really stomach this? If this is what he really wants from you from now on, aside from the other things he might order you to do?” 

_The bitter guilt of her participating in the ritual that made Voldemort survive his rebounding Killing Curse, making this second wizarding war possible, burned in her stomach. She, of all people, should do anything to stop him, whatever her personal feelings, because it was her fault. But she couldn’t reveal this to her Professors, that she was the one responsible for the Second Wizarding War. She couldn’t bear the disgust and loathing that inevitably would form in their eyes._

Meeting Snape’s eyes, she said tonelessly: “I can do it. I want to bring him down. If this is what it takes to make it quicker, then I can survive this too.” 

Dumbledore looked oddly grateful but also a little ashamed, while McGonagall’s expression seemed to waver between pride and horror. Snape looked almost as impassive as ever, but she saw a flash of respect in his dark eyes, mingled with a deep sadness. 

That, however, was quickly gone, as Snape laughed out loud in disbelief at her next words: “ _He_ requested that I learn Islandic and German. This will take a lot of time away from my studies, and I’m very worried about my school grades, because …” 

Xxxx

Her school problem was solved, when Dumbledore had suggested she’d take a few NEWTs early. She had protested, being shocked by the thought, but Dumbledore pointed out, if she spent the summer reading the NEWT curriculum for History of Magic and Astronomy, she’d free six hours of class time a week for studying languages next semester, plus the time she would have spent on the homework. 

Voldemort established a routine, calling for her twice a week, and the encounters were always sexual, bordering on violent, but he was now ‘rewarding’ her more often than not, making her feel guilty and ashamed, like she didn’t deserve the pity and horror in McGonagall’s eyes when she made her reports. 

In the night, however, Snape would grudgingly agree to let her sleep with her head on his shoulder, though frequently complaining about getting her hair in his face, shoving her down to sleep on his chest instead. _It felt safe, sleeping with her head on her grumpy Professor’s chest, the steady thump of his heart calming her, like Severus Snape could keep her safe, even in his sleep._

The mornings, however, were awkward, when he woke up with an insistent, large erection poking her thighs, her stomach or her bum. He never made a move on her, and he never made a comment, he just rolled away from her, quietly. She was thankful for that, but it made her wonder if her Professor thought her _that_ unattractive. His morning erections was clearly just a physical process, there was never anything to indicate he wanted _her._

She seldom saw any other Death Eaters. Snape escorted her, always ushering her quickly through Malfoy Manor. If anyone approached them, he growled a warning that made them stand back. Though, she could feel their eyes in her back, probably plotting on how to derail the progress of their Lord’s new pet Mudblood, that seemed to have gained such a surprising favour as his mistress. 

Slowly, over the weeks, a pattern evolved. Voldemort would satisfy himself, sometimes making her come in shuddering, guilt-ridden, spell-induced orgasms too, and afterwards, she’d be allowed to look at his books, picking out those she wanted to read. 

He actually lent her books, but he also quizzed her on the content when she brought them back, or offered his views on the theories, his ideas often being interpretations that she had never even imagined possible. _She was ashamed to say, she enjoyed this part immensely, though she hadn’t the faintest clue why he would tell her all these things._

One evening, as he was finishing up paperwork as she arrived, she perused his Transfiguration books, pulling out one on human Transfiguration. She thought she might have seen it before, that he had been reading it himself _._ The title was ‘ _Transfiguring Lasting Matter’_ , and she opened it, looking with interest at the introduction. It seemed to be very theoretical, and fairly dark. 

She started, as he came up behind her, snaking his long arms around her, pulling her flush into his hard body. 

“This book,” he said, “will teach you how to Transfigure other people into animals and things, while letting them stay conscious in their new form. Imagine, turning someone into a teapot, and letting them spend eternity, forever Transfigured. What a delightful punishment!” 

She stiffened, before leaning back into him. “Did you do that?” she asked quietly. 

Voldemort chuckled. “Fancy a cuppa?” 

Eyes wide in disbelief, she said: “You didn’t!”

He shrugged behind her. “I have a whole tea set. I rather like the green ‘Royal Albert” pattern, don’t you? Read this book, and maybe I’ll allow you to further complete my collection.” 

“Really,” she said faintly, before forcing herself to ask: “May I see it?” 

“Certainly.” He waved his wand, and an entire tea service floated out of a cabinet, settling on the table between the chairs at the fireplace. Steam wafted out of the teapot’s spout, and he asked: “Milk or sugar?” 

“Milk, please,” she said weakly, staring in disbelief at the set. _It had to be thirty pieces, all in all. Lots of cups and saucers, sugar bowl and a milk pitcher. He even had jam bowls, a tea tray and a matching tiered stand for afternoon tea._

Gesturing for her to take a seat, he poured her a cup, saying callously with a nod to the teapot: “Meet Auror Georgina Styles.” 

“I see,” she said, trying to disguise her frown of disgust, as she swirled the tea in her cup. “And who might this be?” 

He cocked his bald head, red eyes squinting at the cup. “That would be Dirk Penmoulton, also Auror, and your saucer would be Armand Moulevieré, a French wizard from Bretagne.” 

“How do you recognize the people turned into cups? The set looks remarkably even and similar to me,” she asked, theoretical curiosity warring with revulsion as she turned the cup over in her hands, while glancing at the rest of the set. 

“I don’t do shoddy spellwork,” he said, and she had the absurd thought that he was pleased she had noticed the perfect Transfiguration work. “There is, if you read that book, a way to trace the remnants of magic in objects. Very useful, not only for remembering the unlucky participants in my tea set.” He laughed, showing off his yellow teeth. 

“Oh,” she said, curiosity picked now. “Does it work on anyone’s spellwork, or just your own?” She sniffed her tea, noticing that it was clearly a superior blend - _an expensive Darjeeling First Flush -_ before taking a sip of her Dirk - _no, her cup! Don’t think about it, please,_ _Hermione_ , she pleaded with herself _._

“Very good question,” he said approvingly, sending her an amused glance. Then he continued, steepling his fingers: “Transfiguration is merely the manipulation of matter. What the author of this book proposes, is a method for Transfiguring someone into a new vessel, a lasting one, like my tea set. There are also others that proposes to …” he paused, smirking at her, “... to combine Transfiguring matter with the manipulation of time. _That_ makes it far more interesting.” 

“Did they solve the problem?” she asked, a keen interest burning through her, and vaguely horrified, she realized: _It matched his own. Maybe that’s why he would take the time to teach her?_

Voldemort shook his head, taking a sip of his tea, a wicked light in his eyes: “Not entirely. The author seems to have suffered from a limited imagination, being much too rational and logical.”

Xxxx

Later, when she reported the interaction, Snape mused: “I would never say the Dark Lord had any capacity for caring, though he’s certainly treating you to his best side for the moment. Believe me, Miss Granger, it could have been far worse. But this is what Dumbledore requested of you, a beginning of something more than just sex. He clearly enjoys discussing magic with you, and it seems like he actually wants to teach you things. This is very good for our cause, Granger, though maybe not … so much … for you.” 

McGonagall and Dumbledore, however, both Transfiguration Masters, were thoroughly shaken and disgusted. “He’s completely immoral!” Dumbledore almost shouted, his wrinkled, pale face almost flushed with his rage, the papery skin suffused with pink: “Using our Art to do this, this vile, despicable thing!” 

“Gods, to think those poor people! Georgina Styles was one of the best in her year, a great Gryffindor through and through,” McGonagall sighed, her face sad and worried. “We thought, when she disappeared back in 1976, that she had died. Never, ever did we suspect something as horrifying as this. And poor Dirk, a polite Hufflepuff, if I remember correctly, graduating with honours in 1972...” Shaking her head, McGonagall mumbled: “That poor French wizard, I hope his family has found some peace.” 

Snape said calmly: “Then we should be indeed happy, that Lucius took care of most of the Dark Lord’s things from the First War, not letting Alastor and his cronies destroy everything. When we win, we know that there’ll be some heavy Transfiguration work on a rather nice tea set for a time, to retrieve those people from their current form. I imagine, the people captured in the tea set will need a long stay in St. Mungo’s afterwards.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough start, wasn't it? It's going to get better, trust me. 
> 
> Remember, Hermione has removed her memories of the Horcruxes...


	8. First Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Until the lines are blurring,” he said softly, casting a glance at her that made her shiver, both in fear, but also with something strange, something that warmed inside her at the care he was showing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has given kudos, subscribed or left comments! I'm amazed, I thought this triangle was something that most people would back away from...

The Order let all Death Eater raids go through as planned, Dumbledore and McGonagall worrying that the blame for any intel would be placed at Hermione’s feet. The deaths and the horrors of the raids were weighing down on her, though, knowing that she, for the time being, was the reason the Order couldn’t prevent them from happening. 

“It’s too early, my dear,” McGonagall said, giving her an understanding smile, but her eyes were grave. The old Headmaster was slumped in his chair, eyes closed, like he was sleeping. Hermione knew he was awake, though, he merely chose not to participate in this.  _ He was becoming more tired and frail every day, and she suspected, the curse that had blackened his arm was spreading.  _

Hermione was pacing the Headmaster’s chambers, her heart thrumming madly in time with her desperation. 

“I know,” she almost wailed, “I do know, it’s logical, rational, but … They are going to die!” 

At the moment, the people in question were the parents of a recent Muggleborn graduate from Hogwarts, as well as the Muggleborn girl herself. 

“Not only that,” Snape said darkly, making everything worse, “the girl is also going to be a … gift … for Yaxley, for his successful work in the Ministry. She’ll last a long time before she dies. It won’t be swift, and it certainly won’t be painless.” 

McGonagall flinched, but her eyes remained steely. “You’re not helping, Severus,” she said quietly. 

Snape sat ramrod straight in the chair facing the desk, arms crossed over his chest, hands clenching and unclenching in silent fury. He snorted disdainfully, before gritting out: “She need to know the truth, as do you. Nothing is going to be easier for Jennifer Clemens and her parents. We, who make this decision, we who play at being gods when we change and shift the fates of people, should be fully aware of what - of  _ whom  _ \- we sacrifice for the Greater Good. This room seems so safe, but the world is a dangerous … a  _ painful  _ … place.” 

Hermione could see the pain in his eyes, well hidden behind his cruel words, and it made Dumbledore shift and blink. “Severus…” he said reedily. Rousing himself, he fixed a strong, blue glare on Snape. “How is Hermione doing, as a spy?” 

She felt a little insulted, being talked about over her head, like she wasn’t even there. 

Snape sighed. “She’s doing well. Miss Granger is going in deep, and he’s letting her.” 

“How deep?” McGonagall asked, looking worried. 

“Until the lines are blurring,” he said softly, casting a glance at her that made her shiver, both in fear, but also with something strange, something that warmed inside her at the care he was showing her. 

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, looking tired. At last, he said quietly: “His plans… Well, he doesn’t want her mixing with the other Death Eaters, and he told me straight out, he’s not going to make her Inner Circle. She’s to stay away from most ordinary meetings with the Death Eaters. I’m sure, however, he eventually plans to use her in raids. Otherwise, it’s just these … private meetings. Albus, I don’t really understand what he means to do with her. He seems to have let go of his despisal of Muggleborns in her case, and strange as it seems, it worries me.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “The opportunity to get close to him is the most important thing.” Turning to her, he continued: “This is valuable work, Hermione, even though it might feel distasteful.”

McGonagall interjected: “Severus, how does the other Death Eaters react to this? Someone must be upset, or jealous. It isn’t a normal occurrence for a recruit to spend so much time with him alone, is it?” 

Snape snorted, his black hair swinging as he shook his head. “Not at all. For the moment, there is no danger, but we’ll have to be on our guard. They certainly notice that she’s not mingling with them, but most assumes that he’s fucking her for some obscure reason, or maybe even torturing her because of her blood status.” 

“Be careful,” Dumbledore wheezed, before he said to Hermione: “Now, my dear, we have news for Severus, so if you would leave us, please?” 

McGonagall gave her a pinched smile, and said: “You’ve done well, Hermione, really well. Thank you.” 

Nodding to her Professors, she left the room, closing the great, carved doors carefully behind her, before ascending on the moving staircase, the chill from the stones seeping into her skin, making gooseflesh bloom on her bare arms. 

Dumbledore and McGonagall always sent her out before telling Snape anything important about the Order business. While she wasn’t a part of the Order’s other war efforts, previously, she had managed to learn that Harry and Dumbledore had had some success, which had cheered up the Order immensely, though she couldn’t quite get a grasp on what it was. 

She suspected, the knowledge was hidden in those memories of hers that Dumbledore guarded inside his cabinet, and consequently, she wasn’t meant to know. Her mind still felt hollow in places, like there were rounded tunnels burrowing through her mind, where the matter of her memories had been removed. She was anxious to have her memories restored, and her Occlumency was coming on nicely, though Snape had told her, it would be a long way yet before she could handle Voldemort in her head. 

Snape, however, seemed to handle that just fine, and she knew, he also had his own meetings with Voldemort. Those meetings were private talks, where Snape advised him and brought him intel, apart from the official Inner Circle meetings. At times, she got the impression that her Professor also tried to make sure the Dark Lord treated her better - or at the very least - not too badly. 

_ But her own plight didn’t really matter, compared to what the victims from the Death Eater raids had to endure. She felt exceedingly guilty, knowing that in the last couple of weeks, people had been dying because of her own safety as a spy. And soon, she would have to participate in the raids herself.  _

Xxxx

Voldemort paced in front of them, their ranks forming seven squares of five witches and wizards, all in black cloaks, the full Death Eaters with their ornate silver masks, and the rest with black leather masks over their faces. The tough leather chafed over Hermione’s nose and brow, and it smelled strongly of old sweat. Wrinkling her nose, she performed a discrete “ _ Tergeo,” _ but the scent seemed to be stuck, ingrained into the leather. She was thankful that Snape was standing beside her, feeling as if she would be in need of his guidance, or maybe just him being there would be a reassurance.  _ It would be her very first raid, and she was queasy and nervous about what she would have to do - and what she’d see.  _

“You know your objectives,” the tall wizard in front of them said, his voice a sibilant hiss, eyes flashing a cruel red, as his black robe flapped around him. “You will raze the village of Meadstone to the ground, making sure no one survives. When you’re done, the Muggle authorities should believe it was an unexpected earthquake, but leave enough traces for the wizarding community and the Aurors to pick up on your work. You, my dear Bella,” he turned to a small figure in Hermione’s squad in the front rank, “are tasked with getting de Brinvilliers locket from old Dermot McWiggan, and bring it back safely to me. He shouldn’t be a match for you, as he’s the only wizard living in this village, but he’s a sly one. Make sure you have Severus, Rodolphus and Augustus with you, and of course, Granger, our new prospect.” 

There was a rustling sound behind her, and she felt the eyes of other prospects boring into her back, all of them irritated that she, a newcomer, were allowed in on such a prestigious task in this mission.  _ Moreover, she was a newcomer that didn’t participate in their training, a newcomer that had the Dark Lord’s attention - a newcomer Muggleborn who they felt had no right to be here.  _ She straightened her back, trying to ooze confidence and power from her stance, but she suspected, it merely looked like she was shifting nervously. 

“The locket is the main objective, but please, have fun out there. Leave none alive. Go!”

The hideous laughter from Voldemort seemed to follow her through Apparition, and she still felt a shiver of revulsion at the sound when she arrived on the outskirts of Meadstone, within the still well-organized squad. 

They were assigned to enter from the south side, because the old stone mansion belonging to McWiggan was close to the steep cliffs overlooking the English Channel. Deep below, waves crashed against the cliffs, and the five black-clad figures started towards the village, the wind making their cloaks flap around them. 

Snape brought out his wand, setting Anti-Apparition wards around the perimeter of the village, his expression grim. The village was small, with merely a hundred inhabitants, with the wizard posing as the lord of the manor among the Muggles. Soon enough, screams were heard from the village green, and Bellatrix Lestrange laughed, sending a red blocking spell forward, to prevent anyone from running away. A short man came running towards the barrier she had raised, his pudgy face a mask of panic. The barrier zapped him, like he had run into an electric fence with a too high voltage, and he burned to a cinder within moments in front of them. 

“Oooh, good one, Bella!” Rodolphus said admiringly, “but we’re aiming for an earthquake, remember?” Casually, he sent a casual Blasting Curse towards the village, creating a large hole in the ground, earth spraying twenty feet in the air, making an outhouse balance precariously on the side, before slowly tipping into the hole. 

Likewise, the earth groaned as Snape split it apart, creating a deep rift running through the paved streets, with a lazy flick of his wand, his expression almost bored. Hermione blinked, shocked at the pandemonium, trying to block out the sounds of terrified screams and whimpers of pain, and they moved on, towards the manor. 

Entering the lush, green gardens of the manor, Augustus Rookwood tutted. “I like flowers,” he said sadly, “and this was a beautiful garden. Shame we have to destroy it,” and by that, he moved his wand into a wide arch, scorching the trees and flowers, like a swathe of fire had swept through it. 

The house was silent, and Bellatrix was about to enter the front door, when Hermione said urgently: “Wait. There are bound to be wards and traps. Let me…” 

Using her new knowledge from the Transfiguration book she had borrowed from Voldemort, she searched for traces of magic in the seemingly innocuous doorway, using thin feelers of magic to probe around the entrance. There it was, a rather nasty, invisible trap, destined to incinerate anyone who entered unbid. 

She held up a hand, saying: “I’ll try to unravel the spell, it’s a Flammable Incarcerous protecting the entrance.” 

The Lestranges stared at her in surprise, while Rookwood said approvingly: “Good work, girl. We’ll send you first from now on.” 

Snape cocked his head at her, and said, deep voice rumbling: “Do you need any help with that? They’re tricky.” 

She gave him a quick smile. “I think I’ll manage.”  _ She had to prove herself useful to the Death Eaters, and make sure rumour spread that Hermione Granger was a tough one. She could do this.  _

Still, her palms felt sweaty as she picked apart the spell, the minutes ticking by, and Bellatrix Lestrange was tapping her foot impatiently. At last, Hermione nodded, saying: “It’s gone. I took it down.” 

“Finally,” Bellatrix drawled, but her husband patted Hermione’s shoulder, saying: “Good work, Mudblood.” 

Snape’s mouth twitched, like he was displeased, but he strode forward, entering the large house first. 

Hermione sent feelers ahead of them, searching for traces of magic, and they moved silently through the house. It was grand, with thick, silk tapestries on the walls, and the bannisters and the ornamented doors shone with polish. 

“The house has a tower,” Bellatrix Lestrange said quietly, after they had walked for a while. “I would hazard a guess that this would be where he hides any magical objects.” 

“Yes,” Snape said, “I agree.” The two of them looked at each other with surprise, like they seldom agreed upon anything, but the party moved upwards, climbing the stairs. 

At the top floor, there was a trap door in the painted roof. Among angels, clouds and sunbursts, the door was hidden unobtrusively. 

“Up there,” Rookwood whispered, sending an “ _ Alohomora”  _ upwards. 

The trap door swung open on well-oiled springs, and they looked up in what seemed to be like a stone tunnel leading up to wooden ceiling, far above them. The tower was clearly not accessible to Muggles. 

“There are no stairs,” Hermione said, wonderingly. 

Bellatrix Lestrange shot her a disgusted look, mumbling “unimaginative Mudblood,” before she waved her wand: “ _ Accio  _ brooms _!”  _

From one of the doors in the hallway, there came a clattering sound, and around fifteen brooms in various shapes and models shot towards them, stopping and hovering in the air before the wild-haired witch. 

With a look of supreme arrogance directed at Hermione, Madame Lestrange elegantly mounted a broom, shooting upwards into the tower. Her husband followed her, with Rookwood on his heels. 

Hermione blanched, looking nervously at Snape.  _ She was an awful flier, and she really didn’t want to expose her shortcomings to these people.  _

Snape rolled his eyes, but she could see, he was amused. “Come here,” he muttered, making room for her in front of his broom. “I’ll have to give you flying lessons, do I?” 

She gave him a grateful smile, settling in front of him on the broom. “I suppose,” she said, and then the broom lurched up, shooting upwards in a sharp angle, making her fall back against his body. 

The trip wasn’t long, but to her surprise, she felt him hardening behind her, as her bottom ground into his crotch with the pressure of gravity.  _ He never had pushed any advantage towards her, what with her sleeping in his bed, and so, she had deduced that he really wasn’t interested in her. He had seen her naked in Voldemort’s chambers several times, and apart from the odd, lingering glance, he had rarely shown any reaction to the sight. This hardness at her back, maybe it proved otherwise.  _ The thought made her tingle pleasantly, a momentary distraction from the awful task they were set to perform. 

At the top, the other Death Eaters had already gotten through the trap door, and Snape landed her smoothly on the wooden floor above. With his usual, impassive expression, he straightened his robes, before striding off towards an ironwood staircase. From above, sounds of fighting, flashes of lights and shouted curses started. 

Calling back over his shoulder, he said: “This isn’t likely to be pretty. You’ll have to hurry up, if you don’t want to miss out on the ’fun’.” 

The grimace around his mouth told her exactly what he thought about the ‘fun’, but she hurried after, nonetheless. 

As Hermione came up the stairs, Rookwood was lying curled up in a heap on the floor, clutching his abdomen to keep his entrails inside his body, blood and gore seeping through his hands. 

The old Death Eater groaned, but Hermione’s attention was on the fight. 

Bellatrix was swirling her wand, curses shooting out like fireworks, while her husband maintained a strong  _ Protego  _ around them both. From the looks of it, it was obvious they were a practised fighting team, working efficiently together. 

In the shadows, a short figure traded the witch curse for curse, holding his own, sending vicious spells against the two Death Eaters. 

Not really knowing what to do, she kept watching the fight, while Snape bent down, checking on Rookwood’s injury, moving his wand slowly over the gaping hole in the man’s abdomen. 

Suddenly, there was a purple curse shooting straight at the back of Snape’s head, the light of it almost dazzling Hermione. In a split second, she knew, her  _ Protego  _ would be fast enough -  _ Snape would be hit full on, with a curse that did gods-knew-what -  _ and she threw herself over him, pinning him to the floor, the curse whistling over their back, while she desperately cast  _ something -  _ **_anything_ ** _ \-  _ towards the figure to save them from another attack. 

She didn’t know what she had cast until the green flash rushed out of her wand, hitting the shadowed figure, and he fell, with a final thump. 

The sudden silence was ringing in her ears, before Bellatrix’ cackling laughter broke out. “The little Mudblood just threw an Avada!” 

Wrenching herself off Snape, she rose, her wand trembling in her hands.  _ Had she? Had she cast an Unforgivable? The most Unforgivable of them all?  _ Strangely, she didn’t feel any different. Maybe she should, maybe she should have felt the mutilation of her soul.  _ But she didn’t. All she could feel was a terrifying numbness.  _

Snape rose too, his glance to her a mix of thankfulness and anguish, and he grated out: “Thank you. I’m in your debt.” He nodded stiffly, formally, acknowledging his newly acquired life debt to her. 

The Lestranges sauntered around in the room, rifling through chests and drawers, chatting with each other, making small outburst as they rummaged through the objects. 

Snape leaned over Rookwood again, muttering a Healing spell over his torn stomach. The man was panting, face contorting in pain as the wound knitted itself up, but he too muttered a formal “thank you, I’m in your debt” towards Snape. 

Then, Bellatrix Lestrange shouted: “I found it! I’m taking the locket straight to the Dark Lord.” And with a crack! of Apparition, she was gone. 

Xxxx 

Coming home from the raid, she retched for a long time, bent over the toilet. Snape sat on the tub beside her, holding her hair, at times patting her shoulders soothingly. 

“It’s like this, Granger,” he said quietly, “the first kill is the worst. Later, it’s still awful, but … never … like that first time.” 

Crouching, she sobbed between the heaving of her stomach.  _ She had killed. She had murdered someone. She was no better than any other Death Eater. She was evil, or at least on her way to become so for real.  _

The soothing rubbing of Snape’s hands on her back felt comforting, but she couldn’t help feeling that she didn’t deserve care.  _ She was a vile murderer. She was a killer. Just like the Lestranges. Just like Snape. Just like … Voldemort.  _

Snape continued to talk to her, his deep rumble a solace: “I wish I could have spared you this, but in the long run, it would be inevitable. At some point, he would have made you kill. For our purposes, it’ll be better like this, because he will learn that you killed voluntarily. It’ll make him trust you more, than if he had had to order you to kill.” 

That made her shiver, her stomach cramping up again. Her heart hammering in her chest, as tears sprouted from her eyes. 

“I know,” he said, voice shaking slightly, “I know. Nothing makes it better right now.” 

Finally, her stomach had emptied itself, and she felt hollow, almost washed out, like there was a hole inside her.  _ Was this because her soul had been ripped by her actions?  _

Nibbling on a biscuit that Snape had pressed into her hand, she saw her Professor sit down heavily in his favourite chair, tugging off his boots. Giving her a sorrowful look, he Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, filling it almost to the brim. 

She stood undecided, not really knowing what to say. She supposed a ‘thank you’ would do, but right now, it felt wrong.  _ How did you thank a man for holding your hair and taking care of you while you were sick and feeling like your whole sense of self had crumbled, when you just had saved his life, killing a man for him? Maybe there were no words for such an occasion.  _

Turning around, she went back into the bathroom instead, opting for a good, long soak in the tub. She stayed there for a long time, washing her hair, washing away what felt like blood and filth, though in reality, the murder itself hadn’t broken a sweat on her brow. Slowly, she felt better, coming to the realization that she would have done it again, to save Professor Snape.  _ His life was more important than her own conscience.  _

Pulling a towel around her as she left, intending to change into a fresh pyjamas in the bedroom, she paused in the door, seeing Snape still in his chair. Now, the bottle of Firewhisky was almost empty. 

“Are you alright?” she said softly, looking questioningly at him. His head leaned into the back of his chair, his eyes closed, face looking so tired and drawn, his dark, lanky hair framing his pale complexion. 

Those black eyes snapped up, training in on her, and he snorted. “I should be asking  _ you  _ that question. You, whom I couldn’t protect from having to perform a kill. You, who have to do …  _ that  _ … with  _ him  _ on a regular basis. And you killed to save  _ me _ .” 

She gave him a small smile, feeling warmth flood her chest. “Professor,” she whispered, “you do so much for me, helping me, and yes, I can see you’re taking the edge of things I’m asked to do, both by helping me and by giving  _ him  _ advice. And, you are, surprisingly enough, a good companion. While reading, you know.” 

Sitting down in the chair beside him, she took his hand, looking straight into his black eyes: “Professor Snape, thank you. I’m grateful for what you do for me, you should know that. Don’t ever think you’re not doing enough for me.” 

He scoffed, his cheeks flushing, his eyes glazed with drink: “Yet, I want you, you know that now. You felt it, I know you did. Protecting you isn’t entirely unselfish, though…” 

She shrugged, feeling a last vestige of Gryffindor sensibilities in her shouting a weak  _ ‘no! There is such things as honour, caring and helping others without thinking about one’s own gain! _ ’ 

Taking another sip from his glass, he said, voice a little slurred: “Everyone thinks I’m getting something from the pretty woman living in my quarters, while the truth is, I’ve been living like a monk, with nowhere to go for my release, not to break you cover. And then, seeing you, dripping with his fluids, looking so very enticing… It’s been hard, Granger.” 

Sighing, she felt sorry for him. At times, Voldemort still taunted him, by dangling her naked and covered in his juices in front of Snape, just to tempt him. Snape always behaved so very properly, but the only time he had shown any reaction, was the time when Voldemort had put a plug in her vagina after he had come inside her, before Summoning Snape to get her back to Hogwarts. Snape had gasped, before licking his lips, almost unconsciously, as Voldemort had made her bend over the desk, pulling out the plug to let his seed trail down her legs. 

_ Though what her Professor did now, could amount to emotional blackmailing,  _ she realized. Then again, he was helping her so much, the whole situation made her feel bad _. And maybe, just maybe … He wasn’t actually bad-looking,  _ she decided _. He looked stern, serious and a bit uptight, with his formal wear. But she had seen him with his shirt-sleeves, strong arms working a cauldron in his private lab, and she had liked the sight.  _

He kept looking at her, black eyes filling with desire, before he quietly asked: “Granger, will you go down on me?” 

She sank to her knees in front of him. 

The thick wool of his trousers scratched the soft skin on her underarms, as she rested them on his thighs. Her hands were fumbling with the buttons on his fly, and he gave a small gasp,. She felt his warm, thick length twitching behind the thick layer of clothes. 

He was more impatient than her, and he ran his hand down his fly, releasing the buttons by magic. 

With his fly open, there was only a thin, black silk boxer hiding his cock, and it tented the fabric fast, straining towards her. From the looks of it, he would be long and thick. 

He shifted his hips, pulling down both trousers and boxers to his knees, making her shuffle backwards, and she pulled his clothes all the way to his ankles and off. He widened his stance, making room for her between his legs again, and this time, when she rested her arms on his thighs, a smattering of black hair tickled her. He was pale, but the head of his cock was a furious red, with a pearly droplet at his slit. 

Taking him in her hands, she gave him a few, experimental strokes, which made him groan out. Hoarsely, he said: “I’ve imagined you doing this so many times. To me, and to  _ him _ . Seeing you do it for real makes those fantasies not even come close.” 

She smiled at him, wettening her lips with her tongue, before lowering her mouth to his cock.  _ He smelled musky, not bad, and the taste was a little salty, like he had been warm during the day.  _

Bringing her tongue around the head, licking on the sensitive underside, made him arch up with a deep groan, a desperate “please” escaping his lips. 

Engulfing him in her mouth, she worked him deeper inside, feeling the throbbing hardness of him. Pulling out, letting her tongue massage his shaft, she plunged him inside her mouth again, and he jerked in reflex into her mouth, head butting into the back of her throat, making her gag slightly, before pulling him out again.  _ Idly, she wondered if there really was a thing like desenitizising. If so, it surely should have come into play by now. Voldemort loved to shove his cock down her throat, and while at times she could do it without any trouble, other times, she was gagging and weeping almost as he began. This was clearly not going to be one of her comfortable deep-throating nights, but then again, maybe she didn’t have to.  _

Flicking her tongue at the head again, he grunted, hips jerking into her again, but she stopped him with her tongue, swirling it around his tip. His movements became frantic, hips thrusting his cock into her mouth one - two - three times, before it swelled up, and he erupted into her mouth with a moan. 

She swallowed the bitter, salty liquid down, but left purposely a little in her mouth, and as he withdrew his cock, she let a little dribble out of her mouth.  _ Based on what he had just told her, she thought Severus Snape was a man who might enjoy seeing a woman covered in come, whether it was leaking out of a pussy or a mouth. The third option - the one Voldemort had mentioned Snape favoured - made her shudder.  _

“That was embarrassingly fast,” he croaked, eyes riveted to the dribble on her chin, his chest still heaving for breath, “but fuck, Granger, you are very good.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” she said wryly, letting her hands trail over his legs to his bony knees.  __

Xxxx

The next time she visited the Dark Lord, he asked her with interest: “How was your first kill?” 

“Quick,” she said. “Remarkably so. It was over before I even noticed what I had done.” Her tone was a lot more cheeky than she felt. 

Voldemort laughed, a full belly laugh, before saying: “You’re amusing, girl. I had no idea you would want to draw it out. After what Severus told me, you did an outstanding,  _ silent _ Avada. That’s impressive, not all of my full Death Eaters are masters of that particular trick. Now come here, girl, and I’ll reward you.” 

As he made her writhe in ecstasy, his cock filling her up, making her pussy tremble, the unwelcome thought came to her:  _ Her body was a sensuous pleasure to him, just like a soft, Acromantula silk robe or a fine blend of tea. To him, she was a fine body and a good mind to enjoy, nothing more, while the Dark Lord was now the determining factor in her life, whether she liked it or not.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marquise de Brinvilliers is a historical person. She was accused of poisoning several people, and she was tortured, beheaded and burned in 1676.


	9. Stepping Over the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small, yet imposing, witch in front of her said slowly, wickedly: “You don’t know, do you? He might fuck you, but he doesn’t trust you. Oh no, not like he trusts me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split up some of the chapters because they were getting to long, and now, it looks like it'll be 14 chapters total. Don't worry, this thing is already finished. I'm only editing as I post. :-)

The night Snape killed Dumbledore, she was bouncing on the Dark Lord’s cock, not knowing what went on at Hogwarts. 

Sometimes, he allowed her to ride him, instead of him fucking her hard. His preferred positions were either from behind, in the missionary position or him standing up while she was seated. No matter what he chose, he was always in control of her body, dominating her with his strength or his size, holding her down, pinning her arms, grabbing her hips. _But she always appreciated riding, knowing that she’d get away from it a little less sore._

This night, he hadn’t set a spell on her. He had, however, requested that she showed up in her school uniform. With a wicked grin, he had purred: “This night calls for a … _celebration_ . A celebration reminding me of Hogwarts _,_ and how easy it is to subjugate and control those who think themselves as do-gooders and heroes. And you, my little witch, are such a naughty little Gryffindor, coming to Lord Voldemort to get fucked properly.” 

With a wave of his wand, he had Transfigured her clothing. Her skirt became shorter, her shirt tighter and more form-fitting, while her underwear disappeared. To be frank, she was surprised. She had never thought that Lord Voldemort, of all people, had any fantasies of school girls, and so far, he had wanted fairly straight, but rough sex. With a sinking suspicion, she thought that might be about to change, and she wondered what this was all about. _Hogwarts? Why did the Dark Lord feel the need for a Hogwarts-themed role play, of all things?_

“Come here, my little Gryffindor,” he murmured, sitting with legs parted in his chair. She reassured herself: _Ok, you can do this Hermione. You can do this too. Dirty talking, school uniform - you’ll make it work._

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she sauntered up to him, hips swaying seductively, whispering with downcast eyes: “What can I do for you, my Lord?” 

“You’ve been naughty, haven’t you, girl? Sneaking around, fucking a wizard fifty years your senior,” he said, eyes leering red and glittering at her. 

She nodded, putting her finger into her mouth, wetting the tip of it, making his eyes narrow at the sight, before answering: “I’ve been such a bad girl, my Lord.” 

“You need to be punished,” he said with satisfaction, and she felt a trickle of cold fear trail down her back. _Whatever he would see as a punishment, would be gruesome indeed._ Thinking of his tea set, or the Cruciatus Curse, she felt her breath hitch. 

“Please, my Lord, I’ll be good.” The pleading in her voice came naturally, as her imagination ran wild with what he could do to her. 

“I have no doubt you will,” he said, before commanding her: “Put your hands on the table, and bend over.” 

Nervously, she did, and her shortened skirt crept up, giving a free view to her buttocks and bared slit. 

Voldemort rose from his chair, and a long-fingered hand trailed over her butt, squeezing. “Such a lovely arse,” he hissed. Without warning, he smacked her butt hard, and she winced, bracing herself. 

“Count, witch,” he grunted, and she gasped: “One, my Lord!” 

He swung his hand again, hitting her on the other cheek, and she thought he must have left red prints in the wake of his hands. “Two, my Lord,” she breathed. 

His hand snaked into her hair, pulling her head up hard, making her arch her back: “What was that? I couldn’t hear you!” 

“Two, my Lord,” she squeaked more loudly. 

“Good girl,” he said, running his hands over her bottom, before swinging his arm again, coming down hard on her. “Three, my Lord!” she grunted, and he gave her no respite, making her count “four - five - six- seven - eight - nine - ten,” while the stinging feeling in her skin grew, starting to burn. 

After ten, he took a pause, rubbing her abused cheeks, and the soothing feeling of his fingers made her, unaccountably, squirm with pleasure. “You liked that, you little minx, a little pain and humiliation to break your pride,” he murmured with some surprise, fingers dipping in between her arse cheeks, moving forward, finding her hole. With a groan, she realized, she was embarrassingly wet. _Wet for him, wet by being spanked by Lord Voldemort, dressed up as a school girl. Gods, she was insane._

He fingered her pussy slowly, long fingers exploring between her folds, inserting his thumb into her, pumping her slowly, while the others travelled forward, reaching her nub. With a gasp, she rubbed against his fingers, tremors running through her legs as the pleasure grew, and then he withdrew, spanking her with ten more hard slaps. 

By the end of it, her arse felt like it was bruised, but her body was almost at the brink of an orgasm. 

Voldemort retreated, sitting down in the chair again, and said: “You may now release the table to stand up, girl.” 

She did, wincing as the skin stretched around her red and sore bottom, her hands almost white from the deadlock she had had on the table. Turning around, she saw him palming his cock thoughtfully, his robes parted. 

His cock was erect, the tip deeply red and weeping precum, and the hard ridges and veins were protruding. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with the feeling that she wanted his cock in her. _She wanted it. She desired Lord Voldemort. Merlin, she WAS a deviant slut._ Her heart hammered in her chest, shame and desire warring in her. 

“Come here, girl,” he said hoarsely, red eyes looking her up and down, and the slits where his nose should have been was wrinkling, like he was smelling her. 

She moved up to him, and he motioned her to straddle his lap. 

Sitting down slowly, she let her wet opening sink down on his thick member, moaning as he stretched her. 

“Yes, that’s it, little witch, moan for me!” he hissed, his own eyes closing in pleasure. 

She almost squealed with pleasure as he bottomed out in her, before dragging herself up along his long shaft. 

He moved his hand lazily, and the top three buttons on her shirt sprang loose, exposing her breasts. Leaning forward, he took a nipple in his mouth, licking it, before giving it a playful bite. 

“Aww,” she whimpered, her hips starting to bounce on him, and he mumbled: “Touch yourself, girl, rub your slit for me!” 

Her hand went down to her clit, rubbing hard, while the other supported her body on his shoulder. As he moved to her other breast, her pleasure crested, the tingling in her clit exploded, and she whined, high and loud, squeezing his cock as she convulsed around him. 

His breath became harsh, and he shifted his grip to her hips, pressing his fingers into her skin hard, dragging her up and down in a rapid tempo, before he groaned, cock twitching inside her, and he gave a few last, frantic thrusts up into her. 

Her chest heaved, and her tumultuous thoughts combined with the delicious afterglow made her sit still, though normally, she tried to entangle herself from him as soon as possible, something which he also seemed to appreciate. _There had been no spell to heat her up, this time. She had come for him, without any magical aide to arouse her. She, Hermione Granger, had succumbed to Lord Voldemort, orgasming around his cock. She was…_

Her thoughts were interrupted, as he took hold of her waist, pulling her into his lean torso, his cock still inside, though she could feel him go limp. He held her there, for a few minutes, and the gradually slowing heartbeat in his chest soothed her. 

On her way out, she knew she looked thoroughly debauched, her hair in wild disarray. From the ballroom, there was gleeful cheering from a roaring party, bottles clinking, raucous laughter and music. Hermione understood, something momentous had happened. 

Leaning into a column, just lit up by a scone hanging high over her head, Bellatrix Lestrange was staring at her. Her red lipstick was smeared, and her husband was standing beside her, doing up his fly, a happy grin on his face, before he lurched back into the party. 

“I have a message for you,” Bellatrix Lestrange said, her eyes glittering strangely at Hermione. 

“Snape says, you are to go to Spinner’s End, his home. Do not try to re-enter Hogwarts by any means.” 

“Ok,” Hermione said slowly. _Earlier, Snape had told her, if he had to leave Hogwarts for some reason, they were to meet in his home up north. Obviously, he had exposed them in some kind of way, though she wasn’t privy to what had happened._

The small, yet imposing, witch in front of her said slowly, wickedly: “You don’t know, do you? _He_ might fuck you, but he doesn’t trust you. Oh no, not like he trusts _me_.” 

“Probably not,” Hermione said carefully, trying to avoid antagonizing the woman. 

Showing her teeth, in what perhaps could pass as a grin, Bellatrix Lestrange said: “Beware. I’ve seen what he does to little girls like you when he tires of them. You’d be better off if you didn’t draw so much attention to you, Mudblood. Stay still, like a mouse in the shadows, and pray that the pussycat doesn’t come for you. Know your place, bitch!” she suddenly hissed, looking quite deranged. 

Turning around, just in passing, she passed on the news like it was an everyday occurrence, not something that would significantly change everything: “Oh, and Snape, your other fuckbuddy, has just killed Dumbledore.” 

Xxxx

Spinner’s End was a dreary place, and she almost wondered if she had the wrong address. The terraced brick houses looked abandoned, run-down, with narrow alleys in-between. Checking the address again, she was indeed standing in front of the right house. 

There were no lights on inside, and the curtains were drawn. The door was warded, she could tell, but the wards shimmered gently, telling her that she would be received. 

Entering, she walked through the cramped living room, giving an approving glance at the bookshelves. Everything seemed dusty, dirty and threadbare. Finding no one on the ground floor, she walked slowly up the creaking stairs. There was a small bathroom, none to clean, a smaller bedroom filled up with clutter and boxes, obviously only in use as store room, and at last, she encountered Snape. 

He was lying prone on a big bed, in the largest bed chamber. Staring at the ceiling, he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Hey,” she said warily, knowing she looked at Dumbledore’s murderer. _Why Snape would go to such lengths as murder the Headmaster to keep his cover, was beyond her, but she knew, the Headmaster had been expecting his own demise for quite some time now, preparing for McGonagall to sit at the helm of the Order._

A ragged sigh escaped him, and she asked wearily: “Are you hungry?” 

After waiting for an answer for several minutes, she withdrew, going down into the kitchen to check the pantry. 

Xxxx

Over the next days, she occupied herself by cleaning the house, which in the light of day had proved to be disgustingly dirty. She read, preparing for her NEWTs in History of Magic and Astronomy, as well as studied her languages and books from Snape’s library on diverse magical theories. Snape was still in the bedroom, only lurching out a few times a day to use the bathroom, and she tried to get him to eat by cooking for him, leaving trays of food, covered with Warming Charms, by the bedside. The only nourishment he seemed to take, was tea, and he still didn’t speak to her. 

At night, she lay down beside him, and while she tried to touch him by cuddling into him, she soon gave up, because he lay still, unmoving like a rock. She rather thought it would have been better if he had broken down, crying, instead of locking everything inside like this, but as he didn’t show any response to her, she felt at a loss.

By the third evening, she wrinkled her nose as she brought him a new cup of tea. He was starting to smell of stale sweat, and she realized, he hadn’t even been washing himself. His hair looked greasier and lanker than usual, and as she leaned over him, his breath smelt awful. 

Tapping her lips with one finger, she knew, this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t sleep beside someone as foul-smelling as this. 

“You’re going to wash,” she said to him, not unkindly, “because you’re starting to smell bad.” 

Waiting for a moment to check if he would respond, she shook her head. Pulling out her wand, she plain and simple Levitated him from the bed, Floating him into the bathroom. While drawing him a bath, he only blinked a couple of times as she stripped him completely, before landing him in the tub. Cocking her head, she decided to strip herself too, or else her clothes would get all wet. 

The warm, soapy water splashed around him, and she got to work with a flannel, rubbing him down. He gave a sigh, eyes closed, but he didn’t protest as she washed him thoroughly, cleaning his hair. The only thing she didn’t scrub, was his cock. She figured, he might want a tiny bit of privacy left, even if she had been manhandling him like this. Besides, he was sitting in the tub, his cock couldn’t be altogether dirty, immersion into water would have to do. 

After drying him up with a Drying Charm, she put him back into bed, naked, after changing the sheets. Tiredly, she laid down beside him, wondering when he would rouse. She felt alone, worried about their situation. _Could they even go back to Hogwarts, even after the war ended? And now, only Minerva McGonagall was their thin, feeble line back into the Order. What if something happened to her? They would be outcasts forever, believed to be working for the Dark Lord._

Shivering, she crept closer to him, resting her head on his chest, a lone tear falling on his skin. Now, he smelled good, and she nuzzled into him, taking comfort by the fact that he was, at least, still breathing _._ Without him, she’d be desperately alone, with no guidance and help, and she was sure, he’d protected her from the other Death Eater ploys and machinations, protecting her from people like Bellatrix Lestrange _. Right in that moment, she realized, she needed Severus Snape._

Then his breathing changed, and she became aware, his hands were now stroking her naked back gently. A shuddering sound left her, and she sobbed in relief. Lifting her head, she saw his black eyes staring down at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and she knew, he had indeed woken from his stupor. “Welcome back,” she whispered to him, giving him a tremulous smile. 

His hands roamed deeper, now palming her arse, and she became aware that his hard cock was pressing against her hip bone. Blinking at him, she didn’t protest when he turned her over on her back, burying his face in her breasts. His large hands were feeling her up, mouth locking around a nipple, and he suckled gently on her, while a hand massaged her other breast. 

Giving a small sigh of content, she wriggled herself into a more comfortable position underneath him, but he trailed kisses down her stomach, some featherlight, some hard and bruising, while he nipped at her skin with his teeth. She arched her hips up to meet his lips, and he growled as he descended on her sex with his mouth. 

His tongue drew a long line through her slit, boring into her hole, before swiping back up to her nub. Swirling around her clit, she felt herself grow taut, her body arching again, her cunt throbbing at the unfamiliar feeling, and she couldn’t help thinking: _Voldemort had never done THIS for her._ Her nub hardened, and he sucked it into his mouth, tongue tickling it, and after a short while, she came with a shaking series of moans, hips thrusting at him, demanding more of the delicious tremors in her sex. 

When she relaxed, spent, her thighs wet with spit and her own fluids, he surged up, placing himself with frantic movements at her opening, before taking her, his big cock splitting her apart, and she grunted as he filled her. He needed only a few pushes and thrusts to reach his own, shuddering peak, but he pulled out, coming with wet splashes on her mound, covering her in white, thick semen. 

“Mustn’t anger the Dark Lord,” he said weakly, before collapsing beside her. 

After he had eaten, voraciously so, he said, voice as calm and even as ever: “I need to get drunk.” She nodded, understanding why he’d feel that way, and settled down with a book in one of the chairs. 

He sat in what was obviously his favourite, a worn wing chair, and proceeded to empty glass after glass of Firewhisky, not saying a word. 

Then, when the bottle was almost empty, he started talking. “It was all for her, you know. Potter’s Mum, Lily Evans. She grew up in this neighborhood too, and when we started Hogwarts, we didn’t know anyone else. She was my best friend, and I loved her. I still do. I’ll always do. And then she died because of me. I overheard that damned prophecy, told the Dark Lord, and when I found out it was about her, I turned to Dumbledore. He took me in, and now, I had to kill him. He ordered it, you know, ordered me to kill his sorry arse.” 

She sat still, her mouth open at the revelations pouring out, as he told her about Lily and how devastated he had been after her death, and Dumbledore’s wild plan on his own murder, holding Snape to the promise he had made because of Lily. 

Finally, he said, draining the bottle, “There has never been anyone else I cared for, never any other woman to hold more than a passing interest for me, but now, Hermione, there’s you.”


	10. Battling Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know he keeps secrets,” she retorted angrily. “It’s not like I believe he trusts me. I’m not stupid, you know!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one half of of what I originally planned for it. And then the total turned out to be around 12000 words, so I cut it in half...

Never had Severus’ protection seemed more important to her than now. Not only was he now the sole friendly face in her life -  _ if indeed his permanent scowl could be called friendly _ \- but he was a visible, hostile and imposing threat to any scheming Death Eater wanting to knock her down a peg or two. Added to that, she felt he was also the only reason that Bellatrix Lestrange didn’t scratch her eyes out. The witch had taken to wait for her when she visited the Dark Lord, seldom speaking to her, just glaring as Hermione and Severus left Malfoy Manor for Apparating back to Spinner’s End. 

She knew, Voldemort still showed Lestrange trust as one of his lieutenants -  _ Severus being the other one  _ \- but he had definitely stopped shagging the woman, and according to Severus anyone else for that matter, and  _ that  _ didn’t seem to sit well with Mrs. Lestrange. 

One evening, when Hermione looked particularly messy, as the Dark Lord had laboured on top of her for almost an hour, her voice hoarse from crying out and her hair looking a fright after being rubbed against the floor for such a long time, the woman approached her, just outside the door of the Dark Lord’s office.

With a flinty look glance, the witch hissed: “We have one thing in common, little Mudblood. We’re both attracted to his power, his strength, and his ruthlessness. I can see it in you, you can’t let him be, visiting at all hours.” 

Hermione just glared right back at her, not wanting to acknowledge her words, though deep inside, she felt a cold, clammy fear, that the Lestrange woman spoke the truth.  _ These days, she came for the Dark Lord, with devastating ease, shuddering in orgasms without any need for spells.  _

Bellatrix moved very close to her, an angry light in her eyes, before she whispered close to her ear: “Therefore, you also know, when you get a taste of that power, you don’t want to give it up.” 

“Shut up, Bella,” Snape said lazily, sauntering out from the shadows, his tall body moving with the grace of a predatory feline, black eyes drilling into the woman, “you need to abide by our Lord’s wishes.” 

The woman snorted derisively, before she said mockingly sweet: “And how about  _ you _ , Severus, do you enjoy being cuckolded by our Lord? Is that  _ tough  _ for you, poor darling, or do you actually get hard by envisioning our Lord reaming your witch?” 

A deep growl came from the depth of his chest, and he took a menacing step forward: “Why, Bella,” he said silkily, “not everyone is as perverted as you and Rodolphus. Do you still crave him polyjucing into our Lord, or can you get off by your husband’s visage now? I must say, as his provider, it’s alarming how fast he goes through a batch. One day, this will be a good story to tell the Dark Lord, won’t it Bella? I imagine, his Lordship will  _ not _ be pleased.” 

“You…!” the witch hissed, looking up into Severus’ face, but she quickly lost the staring contest, or maybe she didn’t think it wise to meet the eyes of a Legilimens for too long. Arrogantly she tossed her head, making her wild curls dance, and glared at Hermione instead. 

The only thing Hermione wanted to do was to get away from the mad witch, but instead, she arched an eyebrow and marched off, proudly turning her back to the fierce Death Eater, walking alongside Severus through the corridors, feeling the stare of Madame Lestrange in her back, like a menacing itch.

Xxxx

During summer, Voldemort spent time with Hermione two or three times a week, still fucking her with abandon and discussing magic with her. To her own, black despair, she looked forward to the hours with the Dark Lord, relishing the discussions, enjoying the rough sex, finding both her mind and her body challenged and stimulated, though her mind was conflicted and her body simply  _ eager _ . As her own enjoyment of the act heightened, he proved to be more willing to satisfy her, more often than not making an effort to ensure she orgasmed with him. 

Sometimes he fingered her clit, red eyes almost translucent in the dark room, whispering strange and obscure theories of magic to her. To her great shame, it made her wet and wanting, his long fingers so good on her slick nub, and writhing made his large cock rub all the right places inside her.  _ It was the knowledge,  _ she told herself,  _ the knowledge only he could impart to her, the knowledge only he held, choosing to transmit it to her, to her only.  _ As she moaned wantonly, he would thrust faster into her, those thick ridges and veins on his heavy member making her tingle deliriously. 

“You are so deliciously tight, your quim squeezing me, my favourite little slut,” he would grunt, and though she should have been enraged, his dirty words made her come on his cock, cunt twitching and trembling, shouting her release out loud, as he groaned above her, shooting his sticky release into her. 

When Severus came to get her, their Lord would make sure Severus saw a glimpse of her dripping sex, or if she stayed for a longer time, his dried seed on her thighs.  _ It had become a cock competition,  _ she decided, because when they returned to Spinner’s End, Severus would make her come as many times she could bear, before shooting his load over her body, seeming to prefer her tits, her face or onto her sex, marking her with his seed.  _ But she never, ever told him that she came on the Dark Lord’s cock too.  _

Their summer at Spinner’s End was good, though. Beside her encounters with Voldemort, both of them were free to spend most of their time doing what they wanted, apart from the occasional raid and in Severus’ case, also the Inner Circle meetings. Thankfully, Hermione had managed to do without any more killings, contenting herself with destroying buildings instead while on raids. 

Consequently, at Spinner’s End they read, discussed what they read and practised magic. Severus was brewing too, often experimenting with new variations, or altogether new concoctions. She loved watching him brew, strong arms stirring large cauldrons relentlessly, his shirtsleeves rolled up, as she sat in his lab, curled up with a book. At night, they made love, sometimes gently, sometimes passionate, and at other times it was just hard, fierce fucking, before sleeping in each others arms.  _ All in all, it was a good and fulfilling relationship _ , she thought wryly,  _ no matter that it had been orchestrated by both Dumbledore and Voldemort _ .  _ She could be very happy with Severus Snape.  _

One morning while they were lazing in bed, he told her: “I almost forget that you are really a student. Your looks is one thing, but you seem much more mature than most seventh years.” 

Mulling it over for a moment, she said: “I can’t be sure, of course, but I think the aging process from the Time-ravel also worked on my mind, no only the body. I feel … older, different from before.” 

He chuckled, eyes trailing over her breasts: “You certainly look like an adult woman. It makes me feel slightly better for doing this to a student.” 

By that, he flipped her over on her back, before straddling her chest, trapping her arms. He was already hard, and with a whispered spell - “ _ Lubricatem” -  _ her breasts became slick. Gathering them between his hands, pressing them together, he slid his cock between them, the red tip peeking out and disappearing in her flesh. His length was considerable, and she watched in fascination as the veins on his member became protruded as he worked. His large hands were massaging her breasts, pulling on her nipples, and she squirmed, sliding one of her hands between her legs, finding her sex slick and wet. She rubbed herself, creating friction on her clit, while he thrust between her breasts, stimulating her nipples. 

“Oh, Severus,” she moaned, her fingers moving faster, as he was panting above her, eyes locked on her breasts and his cock. 

With a groan, he jerked his hips, the white, sticky fluid shooting out of his cock in three strong spurts, before he stopped, panting. Seeing him come brought her over the edge too, and she arched up underneath him, her fingers teasing the last tremors out of her sex as she gasped. 

Xxxx

Their communication with McGonagall became sparse and difficult over the summer, with only a few, clandestine meetings in the middle of the night. 

“Really?” Minerva McGonagall said tiredly, a dark July evening with a light sprinkle of rain. “He’s researching how to swap Transfigured people into  _ other  _ vessels? Whatever would he want to gain by that? Besides, it’s supposed to be impossible. I mean, I should know.” 

“I have no idea as to why,” Hermione confessed, leaning against a tree trunk in the Forbidden Forest, the rugged bark cool at her back. “At times, I think he sees it as just fun. He wants knowledge for knowledge’s sake, not only because he’s going to apply it.” All things considered, she felt like her most important contribution was to tell the Order what magical theories Voldemort was interested in. There could be important clues in such information. 

_ She did not tell them how he had smiled at her, saying playfully: “Maybe I just want Auror Styles to experience how it is, being a cup instead of a teapot? No, girl, I would like to test if it’s possible to transfer her, soul, knowledge and all into another vessel, but without a continued Transfiguration of her original body. This is testing the limits of magic, little witch. What happens to the soul, when the soul is set loose from its body? As you might realize, I myself have a vested interest in that, and I would like to learn, if there was anything I could have done differently back in 1981. We need to learn from our mistakes, or else we do not prosper. Though I find it safer to experiment on someone else but myself.”  _

McGonagall snorted as Severus shook his head. “No, he never does anything without a cause. If he tells you about this, it is because he wants you to know for some obscure reason. He has a plan for you, something that we aren’t privy to.” Darkly, he added: “It worries me. I’ve been worried about this for a long time.”

“I know he keeps secrets,” she retorted angrily. “It’s not like I believe he trusts me. I’m not stupid, you know!

McGonagall and Severus shared a look, before the old witch said softly: “No one ever said you were, Hermione.” 

When the Dark Lord took the Ministry in August, McGonagall had found no way to stop it, the strength and influence of Voldemort growing. However, the Ministry takeover ensured Hermione could take her two early NEWTs safely, and she passed with two O’s under her belt. Severus was made Headmaster, and they were whisked back to Hogwarts, installed in Albus Dumbledore’s old chambers, making communication with Minerva McGonagall far easier. 

Early on, she realized that Harry and Ron wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts with Severus as Headmaster, and this was the first, vital piece of information she could tell the Dark Lord. Voldemort proved to be very much surprised. 

“They won’t be finishing their education?” he said, staring incredulously at her, like this was a piece of news he’d never fathom.  _ She supposed, for someone like him, being so obsessed with knowledge, it was probably unbelievable. As for Harry and Ron … Well, she suspected they wouldn’t be missing their classes all that much.  _

“No,” she said patiently, “they are afraid of Severus. I suspect they’ll go on the run, but I do not know how or where.” 

He snorted. “They’re right to fear Severus. He’s turning out to be a formidable wizard.” 

She quite agreed, but Severus had become much more busy with his Headmaster duties, preparing for the new school year. Still, she cuddled into her Professor-turned-lover every night, and they usually had time for reading by the fire together, the spindly instruments left by Albus Dumbledore tinkling softly in the background. 

He often had to forgo escorting her to Malfoy Manor, but by now, she felt confident enough to stare down most of the Death Eaters that might approach her, knowing that they would respect her strength - except Bellatrix Lestrange. She comforted herself by the fact that the woman had never acted against her, but the older witch was still staring at her, dark eyes following her from the shadows of the gloomy Manor. 

Returning late from the Dark Lord one night, her spine still prickling after the icy stares she received from Bellatrix, she found Severus sitting half-drunk, with a glass of Firewhisky in his hands, and as his eyes met hers, bitter regret flashed over his face. 

“I hate the fact that you have to go to him,” he mumbled. “I wish I could protect you from him.” The emotions on his face were raw, and her feelings for this wizard, this wonderful wizard that wanted to protect her, to care for her welled up.  _ She just might love Severus Snape, just a little, and shame burned through her. Yes, she loved him, but she loved her meetings with Voldemort too.  _

The only thing she could do was to hug him, sitting down in his lap, hiding her face into his shoulders, so he wouldn’t see her flaming face.  _ He still thought the Dark Lord violated her, and while Voldemort was rough, she had learned to enjoy it - to delight in it. But how to tell your other lover about something like that?  _

After a while, he asked: “Why do you do this? What is your motivation for sacrificing so much of yourself to the Order?” 

Sighing, she instead told him of what Voldemort had said to her the second time he took her: “He told me, he wouldn’t have survived the backlash from his KIlling Curse the night Harry got his scar, if it weren’t for the strengthening ritual I performed with him when I traveled back in time. This is my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, he would have died back then.” 

Severus gasped in shock, before he gripped her chin with one hand, looking straight into her eyes: “Hermione, this is simply  _ not  _ true! He stayed alive because of something else - and those reasons are hidden in the memories we removed from you. I can’t tell you, obviously, but please believe me, he lied to you.” 

She shrugged, stubbornly, like she wanted to protect her reason for doing this, answering: “That may be. But he told me, it played a part in his survival. Maybe it was afterwards, when he was roaming the earth like a spirit, drawing strength from animals and such, or…” 

“Don’t excuse him!” he barked. “He’s a virtual Father of Lies, and he probably tricked you for some obscure reason of his own.” 

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily for a few moments, before saying with a restrained intensity: “He knows exactly how to play you, Hermione, don’t forget that. He does that to everyone. For you, it’s the lure of knowledge, of magical power and research. For others, it’s shiny trinkets, money or social status. Don’t ever forget, he’s a consummate manipulator, a master mind. He’ll use any advantage to gain your trust, your loyalty. Don’t  _ ever _ forget that.”

Xxxx

One evening on her way back to Hogwarts, she was again hailed by Bellatrix Lestrange again. 

“Little Mudblood slut,” the witch sang, as Hermione was almost through the Malfoy gardens, almost at the gates. The Apparition wards stretched around the vast perimeter of the Manor grounds, and any Apparition - if one weren’t Voldemort himself - would have to be performed beyond the gates. 

Hermione arched an eyebrow at the insult, but continued forward, throwing up a silent Shield just in case. 

“Oh, the itty bitty slut is scared of the big bad Death Eater, is she?” Lestrange crooned, almost running after Hermione on her short legs, before she cast an Impenetrable Barrier in front of Hermione. Having seen what the witch could to with that barrier at her first raid, Hermione stopped, turning to the woman. 

Bellatrix was grinning, her wand out, and then she said softly: “I’m going to make sure our Lord isn’t all that happy with you anymore. What would you say, Mudblood, to a tiny bit of permanent disfigurement? I think scarring your face, removing your tits and widening your cunt to accomodate a tree trunk would do it.” 

Hermione blinked at the blatant threat, but there was no way out from this duel. She would have to both defend herself and protect her reputation among the Death Eaters. Firming her mouth, she attacked first, throwing a fast Knock-Back Jinx at the witch, followed by a underhand Reductor Curse. 

Lestrange blocked the incoming spells easily, and pouted: “Oh, the Mudblood baby got angry, did she?” 

Casting a vicious “ _ Diffindo _ !” in return, she severed Hermione’s shield easily. Hermione threw herself to the side, but fired a strong Blasting Curse back at the witch, a hoarse shout of “ _ Confringo _ !” leaving her throat almost instinctively.  _ Gods, the woman was powerful! Her hex had sliced through Hermione’s shield like a knife through warm butter.  _

Her curse made the woman stumble, as it rattled her shield powerfully, but Lestrange spun around, lobbing an arch of yellow Wildfire at Hermione. The flames clashed horribly at the new, shimmering Protego she hastily had thrown up, but her shield held, the flames sputtering and dying as she doused them with a strong, whispered “ _ Aguamenti _ !” 

_ I need to distract her,  _ Hermione thought fervently _ , or else she’ll take me out, probably doing exactly what she said she’d do. What would bother someone like Bellatrix Lestrange? Hermione knew too little about her, except for the fact that the woman clearly was obsessed with the Dark Lord. And maybe, there was the answer…  _

Straightening her back, she struck a relaxed pose, before saying tauntingly to Bellatrix: “How old are you, exactly? I suppose you really are in your forties, but you do look significantly older. Did Azkaban do it for you, darling, or are you missing out on your beauty sleep because our Lord prefers younger flesh?” 

The woman shrieked in rage, her face an ugly puce colour, and she threw a four rapid purple curses against Hermione, making her Protego waver, flaring up as the curses seemed to etch into her shield, like an acidic, hot rain. 

“Because,” Hermione said offhandedly, trying to seem unaffected, though she was now sweating heavily from the scorching heat just beyond her shield, “he often points out how much he likes a tight quim. Can you offer him that, Mrs. Lestrange? Or can you, in fact, accommodate a tree trunk yourself, or maybe a small troll?” 

“You little bitch, you only want to get into the Inner Circle, but I tell you, that’s not for Mudbloods. You need to learn your place, you vermin!” the witch snarled, an almost unhinged look on her face. Stupidly enough, Hermione felt ashamed at using what had to be a very unethical insult from a woman to another: The fear of aging and losing attractiveness, of being cast away because the man would want someone young.  _ Even if this was about Voldemort and his lieutenant Death Eater, whom currently tried to kill her, still, she felt that flash of shame going through her. Maybe that was good. Maybe it proved, she was still a decent person.  _

But it had worked wonderfully. The witch was now fuming, and as Hermione’s own Wildfire crashed into Lestrange’s shield, Hermione spotted a mistake. 

Blocking a fierce Cutting Curse, she silently sent her trusty flock of yellow canaries at the witch, making them swoop around her shield and dive in at the witch from behind, pecking at her neck and back, as Bellatrix had made the mistake of only raising her shield in front of her. She knew, doing this would give a shield more power upfront.  _ But you were lost, if someone came at you from behind.  _

Lestrange’s attention momentarily turning to the canaries, Hermione hit her shield with a Reductor Curse, making it fracture, before she sent a Stunner, flashing with a deep red threat of pulsing power directly at the woman. It hit the small witch directly in her sternum, and she fell to the ground with a loud thump. 

Not taking any chances, Hermione strung her up with an Incarcerous, ropes knitting around her tightly, and for good measure, she blasted a very satisfying, but whispered “ _ Petrificus Totalus”  _ at her. 

Cocking her head, she thought:  _ What now? If she had been a Death Eater, she would surely have tortured the woman, or maybe even killed her. Somehow, she thought Voldemort would be displeased if she dispersed of his lieutenant, and she didn’t want to sully herself with torture. But still, maybe there was something…  _

Humiliation was just the thing, she decided, and she Levitated Lestrange up into the air, scratching glowing letters in the air above her, spelling ‘LOSER’, before setting her gently adrift in the Malfoy gardens. Her lips tugged into a smile, as she thought about how flustered the people finding her would be, and how angry Lestrange would be.  _ And the rumours among the Death Eaters… Oh, she would be gloating. Silently, politely, of course, but gloating nonetheless.  _

Suddenly, she heard hands clapping, and in the shadows, she saw the tall form of the Dark Lord. 

“Very good,” he said approvingly, teeth bared in a sick grin, “very good. You exploited her weaknesses, as any good warrior would do. Quite intrepid of you, girl. Next time you arrive, I’ll have a real reward for you. Now, off with you. I’ll make sure she’s found within … let’s say a few hours.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, her heart hammering in her throat.  _ He had set this up, hadn’t he? Testing her, or testing Bellatrix Lestrange? She had no idea, but she suspected, it might be a test for both of them.  _


	11. Dark Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why is it, that you, a mere Mudblood, always make me want to wag my tongue?” he mused, and she stiffened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was still a long one, and I keep shuffling the chapters breaks to avoid too-long chapters.

As school started, the situation at the Gryffindor table grew out of hand on the very first day. People were jinxing her food, trying to hex her, and she could barely eat for dodging spells and keeping up shields around herself and her food. 

Severus, however, made swift and cruel retribution. The Headmaster lined up the entire House in front of everyone in the Great Hall at dinner on the 2 September, giving them a punishment of 500 House points - making, for the first time in history - a house starting with a negative count. 

With his most arrogant drawl, he said, black robes swirling around him as he paced in front of the house tables: “You will also clean the Great Hall by hand after dinner. Each and every dinner, over the next month. It should be spotless, every night, and Mr. Filch will inspect it. Argus,” he said, turning to the old caretaker, “if you find anything amiss, you can chain up those who doesn’t perform to your liking.” 

The old man knuckled his head, saying reverently: “Yes, sir, I will, sir,” while his eyes shone with admiration. 

Later, in their chambers, she accused him: “Severus, you enjoyed that!” 

He chuckled, running his hand down her back to fondle her arse: “What if I did? No one said I was a nice man.” 

Still, from the next day onwards, she had all her meals sitting beside him at the Head table. 

In class, she was now treated with reverence by some, while others could barely look at her without disgust marring their features. It hurt, though, when Neville, _sweet, bumbling Neville_ , looked at her with fear and revulsion, while her former dorm mates pretended that she didn’t exist. 

Many others were now smiling sycophantically at her, telling her how clever she was, and how much they had always admired her in secret. Their praise was very much a hollow one, though, as she could hear them whispering: “I don’t understand it. She’s not pretty, look at that hair, for example! Sure, her tits are larger since she had that aging-up accident, but still… Why would the Dark Lord want to fuck her, and the Headmaster too? Why didn’t they choose a prettier girl? I mean, they both have the pick of the land!” 

It hit her hard in the insecurities that every girl sometimes can feel, namely that your value is determined by how pretty you are - _just like the way she had attacked Bellatrix Lestrange_. She told herself, she was intelligent, resourceful, a powerful witch in her own right and a very successful spy, but still, their sneering made her feel bad, and it reminded her, she was just a young woman playing in a very adult game. 

Xxxx

“All is well,” McGonagall said, on one of her late night visits. “Harry and Ron are relatively safe, and we’re focusing on giving Harry - and Ron, by default - heavy Defense training. He’s getting surprisingly good, but he tends to rely on a few spells. Thus, he’s very predictable, and You-Know-Who would take him down easily.” 

Severus laughed bitterly. “Tell me, Minerva, who _wouldn’t_ he take down easily? At least, after Albus managed to get himself killed.” He shot a venomous glance at the portrait of the former Headmaster, and Dumbledore put up an affronted, innocent face. “How would I know that ring was cursed, young man?” the portrait said. 

The current Headmaster rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Well, I dunno, Albus. Maybe because it belonged to the Dark Lord? Maybe because it’s prudent to check for curses on _any_ suspicious object before picking it up? Maybe because it would be even more prudent to do a thorough check before _donning_ the damned thing?” 

The portrait had the good grace to look abashed, and sunk down into his chair, hiding behind a book. 

Then McGonagall shot Hermione a glance, before saying: “There’s more, Severus. Something you, and you only need to know.” 

Hermione sighed, rising from her chair to vacate the room, knowing that her Occlumency still wasn’t good enough to fool the Dark Lord. Severus had said, it could take her years. _Years that she fervently hoped wouldn’t be necessary for hiding secrets from Voldemort. Though, it wouldn’t go amiss if he would stay alive a little longer. There was so much knowledge, so many interesting things only Voldemort could tell her…_

Xxxx

Her reward for defeating Bellatrix Lestrange, proved to be different than the sexual favours he had granted her before. 

“You are a remarkably strong witch,” he said, “but still, you should work on expanding your power.” The red glint in his eyes were sinister, proving that what he was about to tell her was more than a tad dark. 

“How so, my Lord?” she asked, her curiosity warring with the part of her she liked to call her decency. _Expanding her power… Oh, she wanted that, she wanted to know_ **_everything_** _, but as far as she knew, except the natural magical growth which everyone experienced with practising and through ageing, there was no methods for strengthening one’s power that weren’t considered dark magic._

“There are several ways to strengthen your magical power,” he began, lecturing her in the way she found so fascinating, her eyes reluctantly glued to him. “At the core of them all, is that you draw power from something else, through a sacrifice. It can be more or less benevolent, like sexual magic,” he gave her an amused, knowing glance, “or it might be through harming or killing something. You can draw on their happiness, like a Dementor, or their pain through physical or mental torture, or, the simplest way of it all, you just kill them. You will, of course, begin with the simplest method.” 

She swallowed. _Did he actually suggest she’d kill someone, just to gain more power? That was … there’d be no coming back to the side of the light after that, she was sure. Her Patronus would be gone forever._

Seeing her pale face, he laughed wickedly. “Oh no,” he murmured, “you aren’t quite there yet. Did you know, while you did an admirable job on preying on Bella’s weakness, you almost fell to one of your own? You think too much on the wrong things in a fight, girl. Don’t think about what’s right and what’s wrong when you duel. Think only about what’s relevant to the fight. School you mind to become ruthless, because winning is the only alternative. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.” 

She nodded, and with a chilling shiver down her neck, she realized, he had been in her head during the duel. _Or else, how could he have known? Her Occlumency should be more than good enough to notice if someone breached her mind, but maybe, she had been to preoccupied with the fight. Yes, that must be it._

Voldemort continued, leaning back into his chair, a cup of tea dangling from his long fingers: “I will teach you how to draw strength from your surroundings. You will, however, start small. There are always little things around, like spiders, rodents or flies, and you can easily drain their life force, using it for your own gain.” 

She nodded again, feeling a wave of relief. _She wasn’t to be murdering a person._ Then, the sober, rational voice in her head corrected her: _Not today._

Voldemort gave her a mocking smile, like he _knew_ what had flashed through her mind. “The spell is ‘ _Captae vis animarum’._ You move your wand just so,” he showed her a complicated movement, beginning with an outward arch, swept it around him, before moving the wand against his own heart and then an upward motion towards his brow. 

He made her practise the incantation and wand movement for quite some time, before he deemed her ready. “And now, my dear, intent is everything, like it always is. You _will_ have the life-force of the little creepy-crawlies that scuttles and scurries in the dark, it belongs to you, and you have the right of it. Fix that firmly in your mind. You deserve the rush of their death, you _are_ their death.” 

Hermione swallowed, but there wasn no way out of this. She banished all thoughts of what was right and good, and tried to immerse herself into a mindset, where she was more important than the life of anything else. _It was hard, so far away from everything that was_ **_her_** _, but she knew, she had to._ Gradually, she found a place within herself, that told her, Hermione Granger was important. Hermione Granger deserved good things in life, she deserved power, for all her accomplishments, for her clever mind, for her conscience and her empathy for everything living - _she was simply a such a good and outstanding person, and this was nothing more or less than she deserved. In fact, she even did the Malfoys a service, by cleaning a part of their house out of rodents, spiders and flies._ Deep down, she knew this logic was faulty, but she would make it work. _She had to._

She nodded to Voldemort to let him know she was ready. He had, she suddenly noted, looked at her with interest all through her thought processes. The Dark Lord handed her a small silver knife, and she bared her chest, making a small incision, causing her blood to well out. 

Saying the incantation loud and clear, she swept her wand in with precise, sure movements, just like he had taught her, and sent her intent forth into the walls. 

Her magic shuddered, like in pain, as she felt the spiders and mice moving in their cracks suddenly falling dead. Their life-force, _their souls,_ rushed into her, through the wound in her chest, like visible, black threads connecting her to their corpses, and her eyes widened. _It was a power rush, like no other she had ever felt, her skin prickling with it, magic moving like surging, black waves just under her skin, filling her with strength and power, oh, oh,_ **_so_ ** _much power._

She gasped, feeling as if she’d drown in the ecstasy of it, reeling, stumbling forward, and the Dark Lord caught her, holding her into his own, hard body, his tongue snaking out to lick her skin, bending down to lick the blood from her chest, like the power would be accessible to him by her taste. 

Shuddering in his arms, she rode the tingling rush moving around in her, acquainting itself with her body, lodging itself in her, making itself a part of her magic, her very core. It was all dreamy, hazy, like she saw everything outside her body like a film, a movie playing out, the reality being what happened inside her. 

Almost without noticing, so preoccupied with the things going on inside her, the Dark Lord had backed her up against one of the bookshelves. With something close to a hiss, he Divested her of her clothes, before lifting her up, his strong arms carrying her weight easily, spreading her legs, hands clasping her bum, and thrust himself inside her, hard and brutal. 

It felt like he was grounding her, making her real and tangible again, and to her surprise, she was all wet, all of her sensations heightened, and his touch felt like kindling a fire in her. 

Desire reared up in her, and she arched into him, grinding herself against his hips to get more of his cock inside her. He growled at her, thrusting hard and fast, and she moaned. 

“Yes, fill me up,” she whimpered, tears almost sprouting from her eyes, “give me that big cock of yours,” and she felt herself tremble as those ridges and veins on his big member rubbed at her inside, creating a delicious friction. 

He pumped into her, hands grasping her bottom, strong fingers bruising her, and she leaned back onto the shelf, trying to get leverage to thrust back at him, to get the exact pressure to her clit that her body craved. 

“You little minx,” he panted, red eyes looking down at her, glazed with want, “you looked so good, your eyes darkening as the power of death rushed into you, your skin almost blazing with the magic. You are exquisite, my little witch.” He groaned, and she could feel him swell up inside her cunt, cock growing harder and bigger at the onset of his orgasm, and she fell over her own edge, screaming her release, her pussy clenching around him, milking him as he poured out in her with sharp thrusts, short, gasping breaths escaping his mouth. 

She felt boneless, idly thinking that if he let her down, she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own legs. He was shaking too, bald head leaning down on the top of her curls, and for a moment, she could have sworn she felt his lips touch her head. 

He pulled back abruptly, letting her stand on trembling feet, and shrugged his robes around him again. 

As she dressed herself again, he sat down in one of his big, wingback chairs, eyes closing, like he was tired. 

Awkwardly, because she wasn’t sure if she should leave or stay, she stood before him. Opening his eyes to glance at her, he said curtly: “Sit.” Waving his hand, his Transfigured tea set came flying, steam coming out of the spout of the pot. 

“Or,” his mouth quirked, “you might feel the need for something stronger. Do you?” 

“No, tea is fine,” she replied. 

“Ah, it is, isn’t it,” he mumbled, “or at least, it’s what this imperfect body of mine can handle.” 

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he continued idly: “It was the best I could do, at the time, but it still needs improvement. It’s … incomplete, crude, though functional. I certainly need more strengthening rituals. It’s difficult work, creating a new body. The best possible way seems to be …,” he stopped short, looking at her with a wry smile. 

“Why is it, that you, a mere Mudblood, always make me want to wag my tongue?” he mused, and she stiffened. _He had talked very little about her blood status, and Severus had warned her, it was a subject she’d best stay away from. Though he might not be as much of a blood fanatic as he pretended to be, the way he treated her, lavishing his attention on her, continued to baffle Severus, herself and the rest of the Death Eaters. No matter why, this was dangerous territory. There was no way she’d tell him that she rather thought his own cleverness was due to the infusion of new, Muggle blood into an old, inbred bloodline._

Then he continued, looking sly: “Oh, but you _can’t_ be, can you? Such a clever witch as yourself can’t be a Muggleborn, not really. I’d say, you are Squib-born. Tell me, girl, is there anyone in your family that came from an obscure background, an orphan, maybe?” 

Blinking, she said: “My paternal great-grandfather was an orphan. He grew up in an orphanage, just outside London.” 

“Ah, nasty places,” he said, his mouth wrenching into a grimace. “And his name was Granger?

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“The obvious solution would be that your great-grandfather was an orphaned Squib, somewhere in the Dagworth-Granger line,” he said. 

Without warning, he pointed his wand at her, saying lazily: “ _Revelis patronage.”_ A blue spell shot towards her, revolving around her body. 

Glowing letters appeared over her head, and he made a scooping motion with his wand, making the letters flow onto a parchment. “There,” he mumbled, reading it, with a satisfied look on his face, before concluding: “You are a Squib-born, thrice removed.” 

“Ok,” she said slowly, having never paid any attention to what a Squib-born might be in the magical community, or what kind of blood-status such a person may have had. 

“Here it is,” he thrust the parchment at her. 

She saw the name of her father, her grandparents and great-grandparents, and then the name of an unknown man and woman named Richard and Floretta Granger.

“This means,” he said with obvious pleasure, “you are indeed related to Hector Dagworth-Granger. His mother brought the Dagworth-name into the family, so you are the offspring of his grandfather.” 

“Isn’t that too far back in time for my great-grandfather?” she said, sceptically. 

“No, no,” he shook his head, “this is your Muggle upbringing speaking. Wizards live for a very long time, and many can and will procreate far beyond the usual Muggle lifetime.” Giving her a satyric grin, leering at her, he lowered his voice, almost purring at her: “Resurrected and faulty body notwithstanding, I’m still 71. I would be surprised, if you have felt something amiss with my virility.”

Feeling herself flush, she said hurriedly: “No, not at all, my Lord.” 

His mood remained good, and he continued: “In fact, you and I are related.” 

Stunned, she croaked out: “We _are_?” 

_This felt surreal, so far away from anything she might have imagined. This man, this knowledgeable monster, this evil wizard - related to her sweet father and herself…?_

“Of course. I’m related to almost everyone. Potter, Snape, Bella, even Dumbledore. You and I, however, would be related through my great-great-great-grandmother’s sister, Sabine Granger, nee Gaunt,” he rattled off, looking almost happy as he recounted his family tree. Sipping his tea with relish, he concluded: “So, I wasn’t wrong, in keeping you around. Third degree Squib-born is perfectly acceptable, and it also means, you might be useful in other ways too.” 

He looked immensely pleased, but somehow, she wasn’t so sure this was a good thing. 

Xxxx

The rumour of Bellatrix unfortunate encounter had spread, and Hermione could literally see, most Death Eaters now treated her very respectfully. They still stared at her, the unfathomable Mudblood in their midst, but no one made any unfriendly moves against her. Black-cloaked people nodded politely at her as she passed them in the halls of Malfoy Manor on her way to the Dark Lord, some even giving her a tentative smile and greetings. 

It was a new high - or low, depending on how one felt about it - when Narcissa Malfoy invited her to tea after one of her trysts with the Dark Lord. Sweaty hair in a tangled mess and his come drying on her thighs, she merely blinked at the beautiful, well-groomed Mrs. Malfoy. The woman wasn’t batting an eyelid, looking at Hermione’s state, but then, she supposed, Narcissa Malfoy would have seen it all. 

She stayed for a brief cuppa, and got off with the promise of coming by, when the Dark Lord called upon her next time. 

Xxxx

The attention from Mrs. Malfoy made both Severus and McGonagall worried. 

“I don’t like this,” Severus said, pacing his office. “Narcissa isn’t one for befriending someone she believes to be Muggleborn, no matter the favour of the Dark Lord.” 

“Would she know of Hermione’s ancestors, that she in fact is a Squib-born?” McGonagall inquired, a deep wrinkle set between her eyebrows. 

“No,” Severus snapped, spinning on his feet, hair obscuring his face for a moment, “or else, I would have known from the other members of the Inner Circle. Lucius would have told me.” 

“Lucius haven’t told you why Narcissa took an interest in me,” Hermione pointed out, and Severus shook his head, disgruntled.

“Lucius aren’t privy to all Narcissa does, or vice versa. This may, in the worst case, be something Bella has set her sister up to. At the best, Narcissa just want to strengthen her relationship with the Dark Lord by befriending you.” 

“I’m frankly amazed she keeps up these social things in the middle of a war,” McGonagall remarked. 

Severus grinned nastily. “Oh, she fancies herself as a kind of leading lady among the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord lets her, which is sort of decent, considering he has invaded her house for his own, personal use.” 

McGonagall snorted. “She always was a shallow thing, even in school. I remember she held balls for her friends at school, one during Christmas break, and one in the summer. I suppose you attended, when you came of age, Severus?” 

“I did,” he said darkly. “Believe me, I had to.” 

Xxxx

The next time she was to meet the Dark Lord, she also got an invitation for afternoon tea from Narcissa Malfoy. 

Severus had snorted, and mumbled: “I’ll escort you, this time. I don’t trust the woman.” 

As they walked through the gravel paths of the Malfoy gardens, he told her: “I’ll be in the library, after delivering you to the Dark Lord’s office. Before you’re off to your little tea party, come and see me. I’ll be waiting, and I want control over how much time you spend with Narcissa. You hear me?” 

He looked sternly at her, just as cold and unforgiving as he used to look in the classroom. 

Hermione felt a small throb of arousal at the thought, and gave him a coy smile: “Yes, Headmaster,” swaying her hips in the way she knew he liked. 

His breath caught, and he stared hungrily at her from, black eyes smoldering at her. Growling in her ear, he said: “You play dirty, girl. Now, I’ll sit in that damned library, knowing that the Dark Lord fucks you six ways until Sunday, and when I see you next, you’ll be dripping with his seed.” 

“Jealous?” she said lightly, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes!” he hissed, grabbing her, pulling her into him, running his hands over her body. “I want you for myself, I want your pretty little cunt to be all mine.” 

He kissed her fiercely, pulling her up on the tips of her toes, before letting her go, breathing harshly. Composing himself, he said hoarsely: “We play our parts. Sometimes, I just wish it had been differently.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, patting his arm lightly. _Inside, her burning shame welled up. While she cared for Severus, she also wanted what the Dark Lord could give her. Precious knowledge, and rough, delicious sex._

Xxxx 

After she had left the Dark Lord, she made an effort in cleaning up before meeting Severus. Voldemort had come over her chest and chin this time, after she had finished him with her mouth. 

Straightening her clothes, Vanishing the sticky trails of white fluids from her skin, she entered the library. 

“Hello, Severus,” she said nervously, gauging his mood. He was sitting in a tall, comfortable chair, his chin resting in one hand, as he leaned forward, supporting his arm on his knee. 

_He looked splendid,_ she thought. _How had she ever thought he looked ugly? Black hair shining in the sparse light, striking features, and such a tall, lean frame. And underneath his clothes … well, there would be time for that later._

“Hello, darling,” he drawled, a glass of Firewhisky in his hand. Lucius Malfoy sat on the chair opposite of him, a table with Wizarding chess between them. The library was opulent, still in a better condition than most of Malfoy manor, and a fire crackled merrily in the grand, marble fireplace. Rows upon rows of shelves marched on into a gloomy distance, and Hermione felt her breath caught. _So many books, and what had sodding Draco Malfoy done with all that knowledge? If she had grown up here, she’d read each and every book before she started Hogwarts!_

“Afternoon, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy said, looking her up and down, before saying: “I believe my wife wanted to see you at her little tea party this afternoon. They’re in the drawing room, if you would be so kind as to join them. I’ll keep Severus occupied in the meantime.” 

She nodded, glancing at Severus, and he said, eyes on the chess set: “Don’t be long, little witch. There’s something I want you to do, tonight.” 

She felt an immediate blush rising in her cheeks, and Malfoy actually snickered, mumbling: “I bet there is, Severus.” 

Xxxx

Narcissa Malfoy’s tea party proved to be exceedingly boring. There was a mix of female Death Eaters, as well as Death Eater wives, and all they talked about was fashion, hair charms, running a household, trendy restaurants and how to make your House-elf learn French cooking. Among others, she spotted Leticia Avery, Joanna Parkinson and Sally Rosier, Inner Circle Death Eaters in their own right, but thankfully, Bellatrix Lestrange wasn’t present. 

Hermione almost rolled her eyes at the mindless chattering, but she supposed, even a Death Eater would at times want to talk about other things than dark magic, conquering the world and killings, except, she couldn’t in her wildest imagination picture Bellatrix suffer chit-chat like this. 

The room was brightly lit, with pale, light green tapestries covering the walls, and the chairs and sofas were upholstered in a matching green, just a shade darker, with embroidered pale, white snowdrops. The obligatory Slytherin snakes were carved onto the painted doors, as well as in the moulded plaster ornaments on the ceiling, the split tongues reaching down to flick at the seemingly weightless chandeliers. 

“How are you, dear Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. The Malfoy matriarch looked splendid as always, in a high-necked black and white dress, complimenting her pale blonde hair. The belt cinching her waist was impossibly small, and Hermione found herself wondering if it was possible to Transfigure your waist smaller. _The women in this room would know, but she had no intention of asking about it. She’d rather ask the Dark Lord, and while he would laugh at her, she knew, he’d give her an indepth argument as to how it would be - or not be - possible._

“Lovely,” she gushed in return,”I’m so happy you’d have me here. Such a chance to get to know everyone in a different setting.” 

“Yes, that’s the idea,” Narcissa sniffed, and Alecto Carrow interrupted: “Do tell us, Hermione, if I may address you informally, when will our Lord induct you into our ranks properly? You are certainly strong enough for being a full Death Eater.” Her smile was insincere, and her beady little eyes blinked quickly at Hermione. 

“I’m not sure, he hasn’t seen fit to share that information with me,” she replied, trying to affect a humble expression. 

“Though rumours say, he shares quite a lot with you, doesn’t he? He is quite a … handful …, isn’t he?” This time, Alecto’s grin was real, and rather lecherous. 

“Alecto!” Narcissa looked scandalized, giving the shorter Death Eater a light slap on her arm. “We do _not_ talk about such things in here. Such matters _aren’t_ polite conversation, Alecto!” 

The woman just grinned unabashed, winking at Hermione, before slipping off to mingle with someone else. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Mrs. Malfoy said, an irritated frown on her face. “She just doesn’t know a thing about common decency. If she weren’t such a high-rank, she would never have been…” her voice trailed off, as a large, busty witch entered, squealing: “Oh Narcissa! I haven’t seen you for ages! You look adorable, like always…” 

Mrs. Malfoy hurried off to greet the new arrival, and Hermione was left to fend for herself. 

The tea was, unconventionally enough, not served by House-elves, but by three young females. They weren’t quite Death Eater prospects yet, but Hermione knew, they were in the process of being accepted, honing their skills before the Dark Lord would test them. _Though, Hermione had never thought honing one’s skills as a Death Eater would include doubling as a waitress. Maybe it was to get in the good graces of the still influential Malfoys._ Moving unobtrusively among the guests, they poured tea, offered finger sandwiches and cakes, just like professional waiters. 

Hermione was placed in between a tall, female Death Eater named Carolyn McNair, and a Death Eater wife, a young, pretty socialiteé married to Vincent Crabbe’s older brother. 

The Death Eater was a quiet woman, at times offering up opinions on politics and the workings of the Ministry, and Hermione gathered, she worked at the Department of Foreign Affairs. The young Mrs. Crabbe was twenty-two, and Hermione vaguely remembered her from Hogwarts. She chatted happily about fashion and the new colour trends she aimed to use for redecorating her house.

“The spring colours were so fresh and lovely, but now, I’m in the mood for something darker, if you know what I mean?” She giggled happily, before talking about the _difficult_ Transfiguration spell she’d use to get her autumn colours _just_ right. 

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. _This was absurd. Changing colours by Transfiguration was as easy as a Levitating spell. The fact that the woman found it hard to Transfigure on a first-year level, spoke volumes in Hermione’s eyes. It didn’t bode well for future generations in the Crabbe family._

One of the waiters dutifully poured more tea for Hermione, and after she had moved on, Hermione spotted a small tart on her plate. _Had she really served herself with another pastry out of sheer boredom? Probably, and besides, it looked delicious._

Popping it into her mouth, she chewed, swallowed, and promptly blacked out. 


	12. Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she woke up, blinking weakly at the light, she saw Voldemort by her bedside. It was nighttime, and he was reading by a small, bobbing light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter where Severus gets "happy," and Voldemort gets to test his bedside manners. Heed the tags!

She came to, there was yelling, someone was slapping her face, but she couldn’t hold her eyes open. “Get the Dark Lord, Summon him, she’s his favourite!” a shrill voice shouted hysterically. “She’d fading fast!” 

It was so hard to breathe, her chest raising in a rattling cough, and behind her eyes, red and black spots flickered. 

In seconds, the room instantly hushed, and she felt a cool, familiar touch of magic whisk over her body, soothing her, immobilizing her. “Get me Severus. **_NOW!”_ ** her Lord hissed, the anger in his voice palpable. 

A swift CRACK! of Apparition followed, before two more CRACKS! sounded, and Severus choked out: “My Lord! What has happened to Hermione?” 

“Poison,” he hissed in an ominous tone. “Save her, while I find the perpetrator. Narcissa! On your knees. That goes for the lot of you.” 

There was a rustling sound, as cloaks and robes met the carpet, and then soft cries and whimpers began, filling the room. 

Severus’ large hands took hold of her jaw, opening her mouth, and she could feel something large and hard pressed down her throat. “A bezoar, for starters,” her lover murmured, his voice strained with anguish. “My Lord, I’d like to move her back to Hogwarts. I have everything I need back there.” 

“Yes, yes,” the Dark Lord replied, sounding preoccupied. “Keep the wards up for me, I’ll join you when I’ve discovered who’s behind this.” 

She felt Severus’s strong arms envelope her, and suddenly, she felt like liquid smoke, there was a rushing sound in her ears, like they moved too fast through the air for a while, before she again solidified, the familiar smell telling her, they were back in their chambers at Hogwarts. 

The fever burned in her, and she was thirsty, flitting in and out of consciousness. There was little pain, though she felt spasms and convulsions moving through her body, her sweat-soaked head sometimes thumping into her pillow, before strong, cool hands fed her cool liquid that made her lie still. 

There were voices too, like from far off, but she still couldn’t open her eyes. 

_“Save her, Severus, spare no cost. You must save her, I command you!”_

_A deeper voice, suddenly filled with anger, like its owner had snapped, said: “I should think I’m at least as interested in saving her as you, my Lord!”_

_There was a brief silence, before there was a shocked gasp, like someone just realized, they had committed an indiscresy._

_Then the other voice said heavily: “Severus, do or take whatever you need. Just tell me. My magical strength to aid your casting, even stirring your damned cauldrons, I’ll do it.”_

Sinking down into her fever dreams again, it was hard to know what was real or not. _Sometimes, she saw Harry and Ron, stumbling mindlessly into danger, before turning on her, hissing as blood welled out of their empty eye sockets: “This would never have happened if you hadn’t betrayed us!” At times Dumbledore came to berate her for enjoying sex with the Dark Lord. Severus told her, she couldn’t hold a candle to Lily Potter, before the Dark Lord grinned viciously, saying he always killed Mudblood sluts after a year, showing her his bone collection, saying that Severus used them for his darker potions, and now, he only waited to harvest her blood and marrow._

Waking, writhing in panic, she saw the two wizards in the room, arguing, staring into a cauldron, and her face was much too hot, she was burning up, there was fire in her veins… 

A gargling sound escaped her, and Severus turned to her. “She’s awake,” he said quietly, bringing a gasp from the Dark Lord, and Severus scooped up a green, thick potion from the cauldron, filling a goblet. “Drink this,” he said, tipping her head, and a cool liquid slid down her throat, dousing the flames that were killing her from the inside. 

When she woke up, blinking weakly at the light, she saw Voldemort by her bedside. It was nighttime, and he was reading by a small, bobbing light. He looked grey and tired, the mottling on his skin more prominent in the weak light. 

“Will you read to me?” she asked in a croak. He started, before breathing: “You’re lucid!” 

“Read, please?” she said, wanting something to stave off those nightmares, a sound that would ground her to reality. 

He nodded, looking searchingly at her, and told her: “This is one of Dumbledore’s books on immortality. Quite interesting.” 

Clearing his throat, he began: “‘My proposition is, the mind will survive death, though in what form, is unclear to me. Even Muggles have stories and tales about the afterlife, but for wizards, the presence of ghosts are the strongest evidence….’” 

Slowly, she fell back into a dreamless sleep, and when she woke next, Severus was at her bedside. He was pale, with large, dark circles underneath his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping for days. 

“Hi,” she croaked again, her voice sore, like she had been screaming. _Maybe she had, at that._

“Good, you’re awake again,” he said briskly, but his eyes belied his relief. “I almost didn’t think I could bring you back. It was Madame de Brinvilliers’ potion, you know, from that locket we retrieved. Bella must have snatched some before she delivered it to the Dark Lord.” 

“...de Brinvilliers’ potion?” she asked weakly. 

“Yes, there’s no wonder Bella pocketed some. Madame de Brinvilliers was an extraordinary potioneer, by all accounts. And this was close, Hermione, so close.” 

“It was Bellatrix, then?” she said, questioningly. “But she wasn’t even there.” 

“It was her. It seems like her sister didn’t know. Bella just Imperio’ed those girls into delivering you a poisoned cake on her own.” 

“Oh.” 

“The Dark Lord saved you, you know. He put you in stasis as soon as he found you, to preserve you for the antidote to work. If not, your vital organs would have been irreversibly damaged.” He paused, looking at her with a wry twist to his mouth: “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he cares for you. He was very adamant I’d save you, and he has been taking shifts, sitting by your bedside.” 

“Haha,” she said weakly. “You saved me too. If not for you, I would be dead. So maybe, you’re also an extraordinary potioneer, to combat de Brinvilliers potion with your antidote.” 

He gave her a brief, tired smile. “I had already been working on the antidote. The Dark Lord gave me a sample to work out the composite. He often makes me experiment, you know.” 

She shuddered, remembering her dream about Severus making potions with bones and marrows as ingredients. 

Later, the Dark Lord came by again. 

“I need Bella, Hermione.” Her eyes widened, because she didn’t think he’d ever called her by her first name before. _He usually called her girl, witch or some such names_. 

Sighing, he continued: “If not, I would have loved to give her to you, so you could tear her apart. But right now,” he said in an apologetic tone, “I cannot, she’s too valuable for me. If the situation ever changes, you have my blessing to dispose of her, in whatever way you might see fit.” 

“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes briefly. _Would she have killed Bellatrix Lestrange, if given the chance? Right now, she felt much too weak, but maybe, somewhere inside, there was a pool of simmering resentment and fury, directed at the witch who had tried to kill her._

“Rest assured, though, that those witches who posed as servants are well and truly dead. The Malfoys have been punished for not being more aware of what goes on in their household, and as for Bella… Well, I’ve dealt with her, but she’s still alive, still in my service. I can guarantee, though, she’ll never harm you again.” 

Xxxx

Her convalescence took a fortnight, before she was ready to join the meals in the Great Hall and her classes. She had stayed in bed, reading and sleeping, doing her assignments dutifully, though Severus had put on his most stern Headmaster face, telling her she’d be excused from homework until she was well enough to join classes. 

As she slid down in her seat at the High table, she heard Professor Sinistra mutter to Madam Hooch: “I heard, he kept her chained in bed for weeks, now. People heard her scream. That’s what you get for mingling with the likes of him.” 

“Oh, I guess she likes that sort of thing,” Madam Hooch said callously. “Little Death Eater slut, I bet she takes more than one at the time. He also had _visitors_ , I gather.” The small witch gave her fellow Professor a meaningful glance. 

Sinistra whistled softly between her teeth, before glancing at Hermione. “You know, she does look debauched. Maybe you’re right. Maybe she asked for it.” 

Hermione felt red, angry spots form in her cheeks, and then Severus turned to the two witches in question. Underneath the table, she saw he was clenching his fist. 

Arching an eyebrow, he drawled: “For your information, Hermione was poisoned, _not_ chained to my bed, however pleasant a prospect that might have been. Professors, I rather think such speculation about one of our students is very inappropriate, and hardly fitting to your profession. How can I know you’ll mark the students’ work correctly, if you privately assumes such things about their personal life? I think this calls for an assessment of your work. I’ll owl the Ministry’s Office for Magical Education promptly. Who knows, maybe they’ll send Umbridge?” 

The two witches stared at him in horror, and Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector scowled at the Headmaster. 

“This is unheard of,” Flitwick hissed between his teeth to McGonagall. She nodded with a displeased frown, but the flicker of a glance she gave Severus was amused. 

At night, she thanked him for defending her. 

“Oh, it was a little fun too,” he said. “Did you see their faces?” 

“Will you go through with it?” she asked with curiosity. 

“Indeed, I’ve already owled the Ministry. Mostly,” he became serious, “because they do gossip a lot about their students. It’s not right, but Albus let it go on for years. This was the first time I’ve caught them in the act this autumn, and I believe they need more than a reprimand.” 

“Anyway, I’m grateful,” she said. “I know what people think of me, but to hear someone actually say it when I’m there is… something else.” 

“Don’t you want to be chained to my bed?” he said, affecting a tragic expression. 

She chuckled. “Oh, I guess I could do that, if you wanted to. Since you’ve been acting as my white - sorry, _black_ \- knight and all.” 

“Maybe,” he said playfully, “or maybe I should demand a reward, being your knight in shining armour.” Looking speculatively at her, he said: “How about your arse?” 

She grimaced. “Really? Do you really like that?” 

His slow, sensuous smile was telling, and she felt, despite her misgivings, a shiver of anticipation down her back. 

_Oh come on, Hermione. Here is the man who protects you, saves you and maybe even loves you a little, and he wants this thing from you. Maybe it won’t be that bad, just to try it out. At least, consenting to do this with the man who is your lover isn’t much worse than letting the Dark Lord have you every which way._

Reluctantly, she agreed. “Ok, but please, be careful.” 

His eyes darkened, and there was pure lust in the slow once-over he gave her. 

“Right,” he said, Summoning a small flask and a vial. 

“What’s that?” she said, sceptically. 

“Oil, and a light desentizer. I don’t want you to feel any discomfort. In fact, I want you to enjoy this very much.” 

He beckoned for her to follow him into the bedroom, and she dragged her feet, wondering what she had gotten herself into. 

“Strip for me, you sexy little thing,” he said hoarsely, sitting down on the edge of their grand four-poster. 

Slowly, she let her robe fall, unbuttoning her shirt with an exaggerated languity. His eyes followed every movement of her hands, and it felt like her skin burned where his gaze fell. 

Shaking her shirt off, making her tits jiggle, she shimmied out of her skirt, bending down, presenting her arse to him, as she unlaced her shoes, before swaying seductively up and around. 

The sight that met her on the bed was very satisfying. He was palming his cock, eyes glassy with desire, and she took her sweet time with her bra, one strap at the time, before covering her breasts with her hands as the bra fell. At the apex of her thighs, she felt wet want pooling, soaking her knickers. 

“Yes,” he hissed, “that’s it. Do you even know how incredibly sexy you are? Now remove those knickers, let me see your wet pussy too. Yes, I can see the damp spot on your knickers, you dirty girl.” 

Using her magic, she split her knickers apart with a weak “ _Diffindo,”_ letting her stand bare-arsed in front of him. Sauntering towards him, she set one leg up on the bed beside him, widening her stance, to give him a good look. 

“Gods,” he mumbled hoarsely, “it’s not like I haven’t seen you before, but this… I can smell you, your cunt smells so good, Hermione.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want that instead?” she asked, a little hopefully. 

“Make no mistake, witch, I’ll have both,” he growled, before rising, throwing her on her back in the middle of the bed. 

He attacked her cunt, licking her, making her pussy clenching around the large finger he inserted in her quim. Pumping slowly, as his tongue brought her higher, he slowly withdrew it with a wet pop, before moving to her puckered hole. She tensed up, but he merely massaged her hole, keeping up his tongue movements around her clit. 

Forcing herself to relax, she melted into the feeling, of the inherent naughtiness of doing this, and when he slowly breached her, pushing one finger beyond her rim, she just gasped. It felt strange, though not unpleasant, as he slowly widened her hole, thrusting the tip of his finger shallowly in and out, until he was buried to his first knuckle. Then he pressed on, making her take the entire length of his finger, and she squirmed as her arse stretched around the intrusion. 

_Oh gods,_ she thought, _his cock is so much larger. How can it possibly fit?_

He let it sit there for quite some time, only wriggling it a little, instead, focusing on her needy clit. She bucked against him, wanting more of that delightful pressure, and it caused his finger to jolt inside her, moving in and out of her arse. 

Strangely enough, it felt good, and he kept up the movement, teasing her with his tongue, before he pushed another finger inside her. This time, the stretch was more painful, and he took it slow. When at last both fingers were deep inside her, thrusting gently, he scissored his fingers to prepare her for more to come. 

Intensifying his attention on her clit, she felt herself clench, and the familiar tremble started in her legs, before she exploded into her orgasm, with him thrusting his fingers harder in her butt. 

The sensation was wildly different, but it felt good to squeeze his fingers, rhythmically, sucking them deeper into her arse by her bucking and twisting. 

“Merlin, Severus!” she groaned, but he was already on the move, turning her to her side, flipping her leg over, before positioning himself behind her. 

“Relax, witch,” he panted, and she felt the tip of his large cock butt against her backdoor hole. He was fisting his member, and she could feel oil dripping from his cock, and the scent of a sweet, unknown smell, perhaps from the desentizer, wafted around them. 

He grasped her hips, holding her still, before starting a steady push against her now widened hole. 

“So tight,” he muttered, panting behind her, “so fucking tight, your virginal little hole. The Dark Lord doesn’t know what he’s missing.” The last sentence came out as a growl, as his slippery head slipped inside her ring of muscles. 

She tensed up, squeezing around him, making him groan. “It feels so good, but you should stop that, for your own good. Relax, girl, until I’ve widened you enough.”

Again, she tried to relax, but she whimpered slightly as he pushed more of his length inside her. 

“You’re too big,” she almost wailed, and he paused, one hand moving to her front, rubbing her clit again. 

“There, girl, you’re doing so good, taking my cock up your arse,” he muttered, and slowly, the pain subsided. His featherlight touches on her sensitive nub made her forget the pain, triggering her arousal anew. 

Her breath became shallow, as he pinched her clit lightly, making her throb in arousal. Trying to get more friction on her nub, she started bucking her hips, making his shaft slide with small movements in and out of her arse. 

“Good girl,” he appraised her, voice strained with holding back, “good girl. You’re doing so well.” 

“It feels better now,” she panted, her movements becoming harder and faster, and his hips thrust back at her, making him finally slide in to his balls. 

“Morgana’s tits!” he swore, his voice almost choking, and he kissed her neck fervently. 

“It’s ok, I think you’ve opened me up by now,” she whispered, the feeling of having something back there growing on her. 

As an answer, he let his cock slide in and out, rhythmically, and she clenched around him, marvelling at that strange feeling of being dangerously open, split apart, while his cock brushed against so many sensitive nerve endings. 

His finger on her clit rubbed faster, and she moved against him, letting him slam himself into her arse, her pleasure cresting again, before she came with a high-pitched moan, clenching his cock so tight into her, he could barely move. “Oh, Severus, oh, it feels good!” she whined, hips moving frantically against those delicious fingers and that big cock in her arse. 

He growled, turning her over on her stomach, cock slipping out, but he pushed back in, starting to ream her in earnest, hips pumping, his hands pulling her back onto his cock with each thrust. 

She panted, feeling her breath hitching at each powerful thrust, before he groaned, spilling himself deep in her arse. 

He collapsed over her, his sweaty chest meeting her back, and he just breathed in, like he was smelling her hair. 

After a minute, he became heavy, and she wriggled to get him moving, before she was crushed by his weight. 

“Sorry,” he muttered lazily, grinning into her neck, and he reached down, pulling his cock out of her arse gently. 

The feeling of his seed trickling out was very disturbing, like she had no control over her opening, feeling it flutter, trying to shut around the fluid running out. As she twisted around, she saw him stare with satisfaction at her arse. 

“Your tight little hole, struggling to close itself as my cum is dripping from you, is a sight for the gods,” he said reverently, and she snorted. 

“I’ve never thought the gods had any designs for my arse at all,” she replied drily, and he chuckled. 

“I suppose, I’m happy that I’m the only one who’s taken an interest in it,” he said, before laying down beside her, pulling her into his chest, with a whispered: “Thank you, love.” 

Xxxx

“I’m sorry you’re reviled this way, Hermione,” McGonagall said. “The only good thing about this, is that they believe you’re on the other side, fully.” 

Hermione just nodded, in the process of seating herself, moving a little gingerly, while Snape watched with amusement, his eyes soft and warm as he looked at her. 

“The Dark Lord is reading about immortality again,” she told the Head of the Order, “and he’s not satisfied with the body he has now. He says it’s functional, but crude, and he wants to improve it. I don’t know what he’s planning, but it’s at least more strengthening rituals.” 

“He’s asked me to look into Strengthening Solutions as well,” Severus said, “to improve them.” 

“So, he’s weaker than he wants to let on,” McGonagall said thoughtfully, tapping her lip with a finger. 

“I suppose so,” Hermione said, “but I wouldn’t say weak.” 

“Merlin, Hermione, I wish you wouldn’t have to do that,” McGonagall sighed. “We do get good intel from you, but I’m not sure it’s worth the price. Poor girl…” 

“She’s doing an admirable job,” Severus interjected, but his eyes had become bleak again, like he always did, when her strange relationship with the Dark Lord was the subject matter. 

“Well,” McGonagall started, peering at him over her glasses, “no one said otherwise. I gather…” her voice faltered a little … “the act the two of you are holding up, posing as lovers, has become somewhat a reality?” 

Severus shot her a quick glance, before saying stiffly: “Yes.” 

The warm smile on McGonagall’s stern face surprised them both, as she said: “Congratulations. The two of you are remarkably suited to one another. So brilliant, so impatient and hard-working.” 

Her eyes closing for a moment, a grimace of pain on her face, she continued: “The decent thing would be to pull you both out of this. You deserve some happiness, some peace, and not catering to _him,_ like _that,_ putting yourself in danger and risking public shaming and belittlement from those who aren’t aware of your sacrifice. But I can’t. This is what Albus aptly dubbed the Greater Good, and … I must ask you to continue your good work, though it makes me hate myself.” 

Hermione felt tears pool in her eyes. _A future with Severus, free from the Dark Lord, getting her friends back… A career, and someone to come home to in the evening, some one she loved, like Severus…_ But the niggling, dark thought in the back of her mind whispered: _And not getting access to all that knowledge? Not seeing HIM again, being crushed into his lean, hard body, seeing those red eyes trail lecherously over her body…?_

Her musings were interrupted by Severus unexpectedly clasping Minerva’s hand. “Thank you,” he gritted out, voice hoarse, and for a rare moment, she saw emotional upheaval on his features. “We’d all love that, but… for now, you saying this, it means a lot to me. To us.” 

The portrait of Dumbledore spoke up, voice creaking, like he was touched: “I’m proud of the two of you, as well as you, Minerva. It takes its toll, being a commander, and one of the worst parts are having to issue orders that might be harmful to others. The very worst part, however, would be to forget the pain one’s decisions might cause others.” 


	13. Revellers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Severus grunted above her, she watched the faces in the crowd behind him, faces lustful and greedy, but everything seemed to stop and slow down as Voldemort’s fiery, red gaze met hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a dark revel. In this chapter, there are non-graphic torture, noncon, death and general debauchery.

The Malfoys had decided to raise their status after their unfortunate, but unknowing participation in the poisoning of Hermione, by inviting each and every Death Eater and prospect to a grand revel in honour of their Lord. 

The revel was set to 1 October in the evening, and Hermione got a handwritten invitation, signed by all three Malfoys, expressing their hopes for her attending the revel. The parchment was literally bleeding gold, and the ink had been perfumed to smell like apples. All in all, the invitation was a little too lavish, like they were trying too hard. 

When she had showed it to Severus, he had shrugged: “Bring it to the Dark Lord. He doesn’t want you mixed up in those things, but maybe, since this is in your honour, so to speak.” 

Voldemort had nodded, an amused look in his red eyes, saying: “You may attend with Severus. It’ll be a shocking experience for someone so righteous as you, but it’s about time you get the full Death Eater experience, isn’t it?“ 

Severus had demanded she’d dress the part, if she were to be on his arm as his witch. “Black, and black only will do,” he told her, rifling through her clothes, before shaking his head. “I need to take you to Twilfitt and Tattings. Be ready after class.” 

Hermione had only ever shopped at Madame Malkin’s, and she had just browsed the windows of the significantly more posh Twilfitt and Tattings, catering to adult witches and wizards. 

The inside of the shop was very comfortable, with sofas to lounge in as one perused the catalogues and drawings, consulting with one’s designated staff attendant. Hermione received a glass of champagne in her hand, the staff reassuring her -  _ as if she cared -,  _ it was grown on a wizard-owned estate in France. 

“You will look so good in blue and bronze,” the blonde attendant said, a petite little witch in immaculate robes. 

“I need it to be black,” she said, apologetically, glancing at Severus sitting ramrod straight in a corner. That corner was obviously designed for wizards escorting their wives and girlfriends, with deep leather chairs, a selection of magazines and newspapers, as well as trays with carafes of Firewhisky and snifters. 

“Oh, I should have known, pardon me, Madame,” the witch said. The title made Hermione lift her eyebrows, but she supposed, she couldn’t complain.  _ It could have been worse. Voldemort’s Whore, or the Headmaster’s Student Slut came to mind.  _

“You would want silks and velvet, no?” 

“I guess,” Hermione said. “It’s for a grand occasion, you’ll have to help me.” Having never had any interest in wizarding fashion, she really, really had no idea what adult, Death Eater witches wore at a party. 

The result, however, made Severus eyes smolder. The dress was a thin, black silk, draped just so as to accentuate her waist and hips, and with a high neckline and a deep, plunging triangle in the back, leaving her back bare to the small of her waist. The long arms were tight and in a sheer, lacy material, and the dress reached almost to her ankles. 

“I wonder,” the staff attendant said coyly to Severus, “if Madame also would need some underwear to go with this? Maybe a few black, lacy knickers? We have a very nice selection in the back, as well as bras. Some have … interesting cut-outs, which the Headmaster might enjoy seeing.” 

Severus raised his eyebrows, but followed Hermione and the attendant to the back to see their lingerie. The silk rustled as Hermione moved, and as they leaned over the displays, he put a warm hand on her bare, lower back, rubbing her skin gently. 

In the end, she came away with several pieces, some merely pretty, lacy underwear, and others looking far more racy, with cut-outs for nipples and knickers that left her slit or her arse bare. 

Xxxx

The Malfoys had outdone themselves, chasing the almost perpetual gloom of the manor away. There were glittering fairy lights everywhere, and the floors and the woodwork shone with polish. The grand ballroom was lit by dozens of floating chandeliers, and a red Dragon’s blood punch were served from a large, silver cauldron, by House-elves wearing smart, black towels with the crest of the Malfoy family. 

“Their party-wear,” Severus whispered to her. She nodded, remembering Dobby’s rather more worse for wear pillow case.  _ Of course, the Malfoys would be so shallow, as to dress up their House-elves on such an occasion.  _

There was an orchestra playing in a corner, and she shared a glance with Severus, knowing that he too abhorred Wizarding music. To her surprise, Severus had had quite the record collection at Spinner’s End, with mostly Muggle hardrock bands from the seventies. Herself, she preferred the new rock bands of cool Britannia, like Blur and Oasis, together with Pulp as her ultimate favourite. 

Along one wall, there was a buffet of tiered stands, sporting finger sandwiches, cold cuts and seafood, along with cheeses and cakes for dessert. The delicious smells wafted around them, making her stomach growl hungrily. 

“I take it, we’re heading for the food first,” Severus remarked, making her blush at her body’s primal reaction to the lovely scents of fresh bread, mussels and well-cured hams. 

“I suppose it will be safe?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“Believe me, the Malfoys were suitable chastened in the last meeting. They probably have people or elves tasting all the food, as well as hygienic and safety charms in place to avoid any tampering.” 

The food was just as tasty as it looked, and she nibbled happily from the morsels on her plate, as they sauntered around the room, being greeted with cheery, friendly waves from the Death Eaters. 

Except from Bellatrix Lestrange. The small witch was freakishly pale, but her eyes blazed darkly as Hermione and Severus walked past her. She didn’t  _ say  _ anything, but then again, one didn’t have to be a Legilimens to see how she felt. 

“Don’t worry,” Severus said, leaning down to her ear. “She might look furious, but she’ll never harm you again. The Dark Lord took care of it. If he says she’ll leave you alone, she will do so.” 

Hermione nodded, but she felt her own eyes become hard.  _ She’d never let herself be tricked like that again. And one day, Bellatrix Lestrange would have it coming. One day, Hermione would be waiting for her.  _

The only thing that made the event different from any large Muggle reception would be the throne on its dais at the very centre of the room. The Dark Lord sat in splendour, his loyal subjects hailing him politely, while the most prominent people from the Inner Circle were allowed to talk to him for a while, the rest being waved off with a magnanimous smile. 

At that, Hermione suddenly understood how singularly her experiences with the Dark Lord was. They all vied for his favour, wanting his ear, spending days and weeks waiting for their turn, while she had spent long hours alone with him for half a year. 

Those red eyes caught hers, and he beckoned Severus and her to join him on the dais. 

“My trusted lieutenant, and his  _ girlfriend,  _ “ he said, glancing sardonically at Severus. 

“My Lord,” Severus said with a deep bow. “As always, we are happy to serve you in whatever capacity you wish for.” 

“Yes,” he retorted snippily, “very  _ happy,  _ at times.” 

She felt Severus’ body stiffen at her side, and the bitter look that often followed her interactions with the Dark Lord flashed in his eyes. 

“We aim to please,” he said curtly, and Voldemort lifted his eyebrows tauntingly. 

“You do an admirable job of it,” he said, before abandoning the line of riling up Severus. 

Looking suddenly business-like, he continued: “Headmaster, you should know that someone in the Ministry, no doubt a supporter of the Order, has put forward a motion to change the curriculum we set for the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, claiming that the students’ magic aren’t mature enough to handle some of the curses. It will be shot down, of course, but you should be aware of the matters, and …” 

The discussion continued along the lines of educational politics, and Hermione’s interest drifted off. Idly, she took in how resplendent the Dark Lord looked in his best silk robes, looking every inch the powerful, Grand Master Wizard she knew him to be, while her other lover stood tall and dark, looking stern and handsome in his equally black dress robes, his hooked nose coming off as more distinctly Roman, than just overlarge. 

At a sudden commotion, where the Malfoy’ elves were clearing a large space in front of the dais, she snapped out of her daydreaming.  _ Gods, did I just space out, thinking about how Severus and Voldemort looks? I should have been listening, not forgetting my duties as a spy,  _ she berated herself. 

Lucius Malfoy strode into the middle, his wand lifted, and he bowed deeply to his Lord.

“My Lord,” he said, his long, silver-blonde hair almost sweeping the floor, the colour contrasting dramatically against his black, embroidered frock coat, the silk threads of the embroidery shining in the light of the chandeliers. 

“I trust you all have eaten well, replenishing your strength for what is to come.” 

The crowd shifted, a rustling whisper starting up, some sniggering, while others hooted. Looking around her, Hermione saw looks of greed and malice forming on some faces, while others seemed unperturbed. Severus found her hand, squeezing it, his eyes fixed on Malfoy, while the Dark Lord grinned widely. 

“ _Portus_!” Lucius swept his wand in a grand arch, and the area in front of him were suddenly filled with close to fifty people, bound together in a struggling mass. 

With a sickening feeling to her gut, Hermione saw, there were mostly young girls, interspersed with a few young men, all dressed in Muggle clothing. Their faces were scared, several were weeping openly, and some tried desperately to break free of the thick ropes.  _ She knew, any attempt by the Muggles to break the Incarcerous would be futile.  _

“Honoured wizards, witches - dessert is served!” shouted Lucius, before letting the Incarcerous go, the Muggles running screaming in every direction of the room. 

She felt as if her heart would break, seeing two girls, barely older than herself -  _ or rather her real age, around seventeen  _ \- holding hands as they ran for a door, determination and terror on their faces. As they ran straight into a barrier created by Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange, the two wizards hauled them screaming in each direction, until at last they had to let go of each others’ hands, the wizards cruelly grabbing the girls and forcing them down on the floor. 

A big lump forming in her throat, and she heard the rustle of the Dark Lord’s robes as he rose. He leaned in, behind her, his mouth very close to her ear: “Enjoy the show, my dear. I won’t hold it against you if you do not participate - this time.” 

She didn’t have to see him to know the ghost of a smirk that flitted over his lips. 

The Dark Lord left his dais, to stroll around in the room, watching what his loyal subjects were up to. She was sure, the Death Eaters upped their efforts if they thought he was watching - except for those who were so far into their own bubble of power and torture, rolling on a wave of sadistic ecstacy, egged on by their victims’ cries.  _ And something inside her squeezed and compressed - hard - at the thought of Voldemort participating in this sexually. Him raping a victim, him taking a willing follower - it felt unbearable.  _ She twisted her neck to get a glimpse of him, to check what he was doing, but Severus huffed, yanking her arm to get her moving, his expression grim. 

“What do we do?” she whimpered to Severus, as they passed an especially gruesome sight, where Bellatrix Lestrange tortured a young Muggle man. 

He shook his head, giving her an odd, piteous glance. “The Malfoys surely outdid themselves, this time. This will go on for a long time. I suggest, we do as the Dark Lord usually does, walk around, pretend to look at what the others are up to. You will notice, not everyone is into torture and rapes.” 

She let out a big breath she hadn’t realized she held in.  _ He just walked around? Voldemort didn’t participate? But what about Severus? The simmering nausea in her gut included him too.  _ “And you,” she asked, gripping his arm, walking almost blindly for the tears pooling in her eyes, “What do you do, usually?” 

“Fuck,” he said laconically. 

She blinked at him. “Rape girls like these?” 

“No, I have no stomach for that.” For a moment, he looked angry and hurt, like he was shocked she’d believe something like that of him, but then his face softened, and he squeezed her arm. “I can see why you ask, but no. I prefer my women willing. As you will see, when the Muggles are dead, people will get drunk, and then many will go at it with their fellow Death Eaters.“ 

“Oh.” The thought shouldn’t have reassured her, considering what she was seeing all around her, but right now, she so wanted the victims’ suffering to end.  _ They would be better off dead. And Severus - well, she shouldn’t blame him for what he had done before she entered his life.  _

She tried not to take in the horrors in the room, staring blindly ahead, a fixed rictus grin on her face, and as Severus nonchalantly stopped in front of Augustus Rookwood raping a young man, she closed her eyes, though her ears couldn’t shut off the screams. 

Luckily, Severus indicated they should move rather quickly, and they ended up in a somewhat more quiet corner, where Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange was spitroasting a young, female Death Eater. The girl looked pleased, being pummeled back and forth between the two wizards, and Hermione fixed her eyes on what seemed to be the only act of consensual sex in the whole ballroom. 

Ghosting by, the Dark Lord smirked at the two of them. He murmured into her ear: “I got the idea of revels with public sex from you, did you know that? People weren’t that forward in the fifties, and I hadn’t even thought about it until you suggested it. However, public sex seems to do the trick for many of my followers.” He went off in another direction, chuckling at her scandalized expression.  _ She would NOT take the blame for Death Eater atrocities at revels, even though Voldemort wanted to pin the idea on her.  _

Huffing, Severus hauled her along, casting angry glances after the Dark Lord, and they ended up watching Dolohov using the Cruciatus on one of those young girls Hermione had noticed before. Seeing the big, burly  _ old _ man with his cock rammed into the girl’s arse, her mouth open in a Silenced scream under the torture curse, something  _ snapped  _ inside her, and her magic reared up, tearing out of her in a great burst, as she breathed “ _ Avada Kedavra.”  _

The green flash was immediate, and the girl went suddenly limp in Dolohov’s grip. He raised his head angrily, shouting: “Hey, who Avada’ed my Muggle?” 

Much more calmly than she felt -  _ her gut feeling like a swirling mass of hellfire  _ \- she said: “I did. I wanted to kill someone, and you looked like you were almost done. She was more than half-dead anyway.” 

He scowled at her, before demanding: “Snape, I want to fuck your Mudblood as reparations. She can’t just barge in, killing my Muggle like that.” 

Severus straightened, saying haughtily with his best sneer: “I can’t see why I would share my witch with you. She’d become filthy if someone like you laid their paws on her.” 

Dolohov snorted. “She’s a dirty Mudblood, that’s what she is!” 

“Actually,” Hermione informed him coolly, pretending to be proud of her new blood status, “the Dark Lord himself determined that I am Squib-born.” 

Dolohov squinted at her, but still he shook his finger at Snape: “Doesn’t matter, I still want reparations!” With a wicked smirk, he said: “Maybe you can fuck her in front of me, that is… if the Dark Lord allows you to bang your girlfriend? Is that how it is, Severus, you can’t even fuck your own witch without leave from our Lord?” 

The insult was insidious, and she knew, it hit Severus like a small bomb. By saying this, Dolohov had put a torch to his personal hell _. His girlfriend, the witch he cared for, wasn’t his, she served another wizard with her body, he was forced to give her up to his master regularly, being publicly cuckolded for all of wizarding Britain, and it whittled down his sense of masculinity, his self, his belief in his ability to protect his witch.  _

The tall dark man beside her snarled, and he turned to her, black fire in his eyes: “Down on you knees.” 

Swallowing, she obeyed, seeing that this wasn’t the right time to argue.  _ Besides, he knew proper Death Eater behaviour far better than herself. If she denied him, it might cause him to lose even more face than she could anticipate.  _

Sitting on her haunches, she fumbled with the clasps of his dressrobes, opening the buttons of his fly, to pull out his cock. He was already half erect, and she wet her lips with her tongue, before licking the salty tip of his cock, her hands fondling his sack. He swelled rapidly in her hands, and she took him in her mouth fully, sucking on the tip. 

“Come, look! She’s giving the Headmaster head!” Dolohov shouted, and there was raucous laughter from around her. Several people came over to watch, as the hardwood floor of the Malfoy’s finest room dug into her knees. Soon, there was a small, jeering crowd watching, and Severus grabbed her head, thrusting into her mouth, going further than he had before, down into her throat. She almost gagged, but this time, she decided, she was to do it without flinching.  _ These people shouldn’t watch her cry.  _

As Severus grunted above her, she watched the faces in the crowd behind him, faces lustful and greedy, but everything seemed to stop and slow down as Voldemort’s fiery, red gaze met hers. The tall, gaunt wizard stood still, arms crossed over his chest, but on his face there was displeasure and anger, or rather something she would have called possessiveness and jealousy, if that hadn’t been too far-fetched and impossible when speaking of the Dark Lord. 

Severus thrust faster into her mouth, his cock a blur to her eyes, and then he came, deep down in her throat. She swallowed around him, making him moan, but made sure to let a mouthful dribble out as usual for his enjoyment.  _ And maybe, as a small payback to Voldemort, for all the times he had let Severus witness her covered in his come.  _

The hazy flash of satisfaction moved like always over Severus’ face, the crowd around them jeered, seeing her chin dripping with seed, and then the Dark Lord grabbed her shoulder, pulling her up. 

He glared at Severus, his jaw working furiously, and then he gave a curt command: “Join me in my office. Now!” 

She nodded, turning around to follow him, as Severus did the buttons on his trousers. Calling over his shoulder, Voldemort demanded: “Come, Severus!” 

As they walked, Severus quickly catching up to them on his long legs, Voldemort added, for their ears only: “I’ll show you how she screams on my cock.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun - if you've read the tags, I guess you know what's coming up in the next chapter.


	14. Three is a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pleadingly, he said: “Hermione, don’t fall for him. Don’t be that stupid. He is a monster, no matter how he challenges your intellect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, you know what's coming. You've seen the tags. (I can't believe I wrote the entire fic just to make this happen, lol...).

The door to his office slammed shut behind them, and Voldemort curtly commanded her: “Undress.” 

With a sinking feeling, she realized, he would go through with it. He’d force Severus to watch the act, and what damage that could do to their relationship, she didn’t even want to contemplate. 

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her - _like any of this was her fault -_ and the expression on his face was stony - but then he glanced at Severus, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. 

Briskly, she pulled her dress over her head, took off her bra and shimmied out of her knickers. Severus eyes’ burned at her back, but she said, in a small voice: “I’m ready, my Lord.” 

“Ready?” he laughed mockingly. “Does that mean you’re all wet and panting after sucking off Severus in public, or at the thought of being fucked by me in front of him?” 

Severus’ breath hitched behind her. 

“I meant, I have undressed,” she said quietly. 

He stepped forward, touching her breasts. “Ah. And aren’t you a pretty one, my dear. Look, Severus, those breasts, full and round, that narrow waist, but still wide hips. Her beautiful face, framed by wild curls. Yes, Severus, your witch is a pretty one.” 

Voldemort smacked her arse - a little too hard for it to be playful. “I don’t have to remind you to look at her firm arse, Severus. Have you had it, yet? Have you pressed your cock inside that tight, little hole? Filled up her arse with your seed?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Severus’ response was almost choked, and Voldemort grinned wickedly. 

“Down on your knees then, my little favourite slut. We must give Severus the pleasure of seeing, not only feeling, how good you look with a cock down your slim throat.” 

Obediently, she knelt in front of him, her hands reaching for his robes. To her surprise, he Divested himself of his clothes with a small wave of his hand. Usually, he just opened his robes. _This night would be different, then._

His cock was bobbing eagerly, already leaking precum, and she stroked his shaft, before guiding the tip to her mouth. Immediately, he thrust hard into the back of her throat, and she tipped her head slightly back to accommodate him. Looking up along the expanse of his smooth, muscled torso, her sex tingled by the heated look he gave her. 

“Oh yes,” he crooned. “See how good she looks, Severus? See how beautifully she swallows my cock?” 

Behind her, she heard Severus breathing change, and with a small shock, she understood he was getting aroused again. _Would he really be turned on by watching this?_

Voldemort held a death grip on her head, hands curling into her hair, shoving himself brutally inside her mouth. Despite herself, she was getting aroused, knowing what was to come. _He has conditioned me,_ she thought, _conditioned me to take pleasure from his brutality. And now, her lover, her wizard who were more to her than just rough shags, had to watch this - and he liked it._

“You can touch yourself, Severus,” Voldemort said, breathing hard, “I can see you want to.” 

That sent a rush of wetness through her folds, and she rubbed her thighs together, trying to alleviate that tingling want in her slick folds. 

“Better yet, you can have her arse,” Voldemort groaned, and she stiffened. 

A rustling sound behind her, made her startle, and then Severus was kneeling behind her, his large hands on her hips, spreading her arse cheeks apart. “ _Lubricatem,”_ he breathed over her back, sending shivers down her spine, and then his fingers were buried in her folds, one rubbing her hard clit, while his thumb pressed against her arse. 

As his thumb slipped passed her ring of muscles, she moaned around Voldemort’s cock, and Severus’ thumb started to pump her arse gently, widening her opening. 

“She loves this, she’s a greedy little thing,” Voldemort said with a lecherous grin, and to her surprise, Seveurs responded, his voice hoarse.

“She is a slut, so wet, so needy,” he rumbled from behind her, his breath ghosting over her shoulders, making her shiver. 

Apparently, he was impatient, because he withdrew his thumb, and she felt his chest against her back, as he lifted her up in his lap, his cock nudging her opening. The nudging pressure at her opening went on for a little while, before he pressed the head into her arse with a strangled groan. 

“Yes,” Voldemort hissed, thrusting faster and shallower, “That’s it, let her have it.” 

She whimpered a little from the stretch, but it wasn’t unpleasant for long, and he slowly inched her down on his long shaft until she was sitting down, her arse filled with his cock. 

He let her sit quietly for a while, letting the burn of the stretch fade, before he began moving his hips. Dragging her up and down on his shaft, he increased the tempo, and soon, the two wizards found a rhythm. When Voldemort pulled out, Severus dragged her down, and he pushed her up to meet Voldemort’s thrust into her mouth. 

She supported her hands on Voldemort’s hip, but let one hand snake down to play with her clit, toying with the slick little nub. 

The pleasure was cresting, and the sheer impossibility of this, of being shared with her two lovers, made her mind spin. Tremors went through her belly, her clit throbbed, and her rubbing became faster. 

“Look at her,” Voldemort panted, “getting herself off with one cock in her arse and one in her mouth.” 

He gripped her chin, pulling his cock out, and asked her: “Do you like being a good little slut for your Lord and his lieutenant?“ 

"Yes,” she squealed, feeling her orgasm cresting, bouncing on Severus’ cock as she rubbed herself, “yes, my Lord!” 

As she came, her shuddering gasps were strangled by her Lord’s cock invading her mouth again, but her belly clenched, her arse squeezing Severus’ in her behind, making him groan. 

“We’ll give her the full treatment tonight, won’t we, Severus?” Voldemort said when she was done, and her lover answered hoarsely: “Yes, if that’s what you wish, my Lord.” 

“Ah yes, that is indeed my wish. It’s been some time since we last shared a witch, Severus, but I remember, it was always pleasurable.” 

“It was, my Lord. Last time must have been around…” 

“1981,” Voldemort said curtly, “We had a nice, red-headed witch that screamed so loud for us, I thought my hearing would be impaired. I believe you were quite taken with her?” 

“I was, my Lord. She looked very much like someone I knew.” 

“I know, shame we couldn’t get to her too,” Voldemort chuckled, and in her post-orgasmic haze, Hermione wondered: _Had they been planning to capture and rape Lily Potter? But Severus had told her…_

Her thoughts were interrupted, as Voldemort took a step back, and Severus lifted her off his cock. That uncomfortable feeling of being too open back there presented itself, and she wriggled her hips in a futile hope of getting a semblance of control back. 

“It would be best, if you sit in the chair with her back to your chest, and then I’ll be in the front,” Voldemort said. 

Her eyes widened. _Did they really mean to…?_

The Dark Lord grinned wickedly at her. “Yes, little witch, I’ll have your cunt, while Severus fuck your arse.” 

Severus sat down in one of the low wingback chairs, patting his lap, his erection standing rock-hard and proud, the tip a dark, throbbing purple with glistening precum in the slit. 

“Come and sit down, Hermione,” he said, half-lidded eyes filled with pure lust as he took in her body. “I’m going to breach that tiny hole again at first, and then the Dark Lord will take your pussy.” 

Hesitantly, she moved forward, and Voldemort slapped her rump. “Get moving, girl!” 

Gingerly, she sat down, Severus’ mushroom head poking her arse again, and he pulled her down. Gasping, she felt a slight stretch this time too, but he slid inside, far too easily. She hoped there would be no permanent damage to her backside after this, and her breathing was fast and nervous. 

Voldemort knelt before her, and Severus scooted forward, making her dangle on the edge of the chair. The Dark Lord pulled her legs wide apart, taking a good look at her wide-open, glistening pussy and the cock splitting her arse apart. 

With a snarl, he surged forward, letting his bulbous tip grace her opening, pressing inside. She made a half-choked sound of protest, feeling as if she was bursting with fullness, as he slowly slid his large, veiny cock inside her. 

“Ah,” both wizards sighed simultaneously, and then Voldemort pulled slightly out, letting only the head remain inside her, while Severu pushed up. They see-sawed her between them, and it was just too much, they were too big inside her, _surely she wasn’t meant to do this,_ but it also felt strangely good, so dirty, so naughty. 

There was no room for her to move, being squished between the two large wizards, but they were now pumping her faster, and she could see sweat forming on Voldemort’s pale brow, the mottling in his skin grow markedly more pronounced, just like it always did when he was close to his orgasm. 

“Soon, are you ready, Severus?” he gasped. 

“Yes, my Lord, I am almost there,” the deep voice from behind her said, his hands holding her waist hard, while Voldemort clutched her thighs. 

The thrusts became more frantic, and then Severus lost the rhythm, thrusting erratically up into her arse. With a shuddering groan, he came, cock swelling up, pulsing inside her, while the Dark Lord closed his eyes in a mask of ecstasy, pumping her harder, bottoming out in her with each thrust, before he too groaned, thrusting through his orgasm. 

_It was done, their cocks now softening inside her, easing the stretch. Though it had been an experience, she wasn’t sure it would be one she’d care to repeat._

Her body felt slick as her sweat cooled, and at last Voldemort moved, pulling out, and his seed trickled out of her. Severus lifted her up, and likewise, the come in her arse rushed out, running much too fast.

She yelped at that feeling, making the two wizards chuckle. Voldemort was still in front of her, having the premium view to her sex, and he muttered: “Oh, Severus, you’d want to see this. Push her forward, onto her hands and knees.” 

One large, warm hand came up behind her shoulder blades, pushing her gently forward, and then she was on display, arse in the air, as Severus sucked in a breath. 

“Indeed, my Lord,” he said almost reverently. “She looks like a witch that has been used hard.” 

Voldemort snorted a laugh, before dismissing them with a wave of his hand: “You may return to Hogwarts. I suppose your witch will need some … aftercare.” 

As she rose, she felt strangely angry. They were talking about her like she was a thing, an object, not like she had been a participant in a very intimate act with her two lovers. 

Voldemort glanced at her. Surprisingly enough, those red eyes softened, and he patted her shoulder. “You did well, Hermione. Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow, and then we’ll discuss the ramifications of the Arthurian legend of the Sleeping Knights and the possibility of Morgana’s potion actually working, and whether this is actually a form of stasis for the mind as it waits for a vessel.” 

She gave him a brief smile, oddly thankful for him acknowledging her as an intelligent person, not just a fuckhole, and turned to Severus. 

His eyes were darker, more tired than she had ever seen, and suddenly, she knew that if anyone would need aftercare, it would be him. 

Xxxx

Back at Hogwarts, Severus ran her a bath, pouring a vial of something green and viscous inside. 

“This will help against the loosening in your ring muscles,” he explained gently, sitting down beside the bathtub. 

Stepping into the bath, she squealed in surprise, as the potion suddenly made her arse contract, hard. But the disturbing feeling of lack of control and the soreness were gone, and as she flexed her pelvic floor musculature, it felt no different than before. 

Severus dragged his hands through his hair, looking older and more grim than she had ever seen him. 

Stuttering, he said: “This… I didn’t want for you to experience these things. I tried to protect you from returning to him in the beginning, because I had the feeling the Dark Lord would want you, but Albus overruled all of my protests.” 

“I remember,” she said softly, patting his arm. 

“You haven’t seen half of it. I made such a racket, he threw me out of the office, once,” he snorted, before his face became grave again. “You shouldn’t have to go through with this. I told them time and time again, the lines would become blurred for you. He would know exactly how to tempt you, with arcane knowledge and how to engage that brilliant mind of yours, but Albus was so sure he needed you by his side.” 

“I hope my contribution has done some good, though most of what I’ve found is theoretical,” she answered sadly. 

“Do never doubt the importance of what you have done!” he snapped, before his shoulders slumped again. 

“And I wanted to protect you from him. I have, perhaps stupidly, lulled myself into the thought that he abused you, that your didn’t like the way he used you, his brutality. But now, I’m not so sure.” 

Lifting his head, eyes black and sorrowful, he croaked: “Hermione, do you enjoy having sex with him?” 

Stunned, she stared at him. _He’d spot the lie, if she attempted it. While she didn’t particularly want to lie to the wizard she liked to think of as her partner, it might have been worth a try, because she wasn’t sure if their relationship would survive the truth. But there was no other way._

“Yes,” she said at last. “I do enjoy it. Not at first, but I learned to like it.” His face fell, and she rushed to explain, to rationalize it: “It’s a coping mechanism. I can’t allow myself to feel like a victim. I need some control, a semblance of it, and that’s why I decided to let myself enjoy it, and…” 

“Hush,” he interrupted, looking so sad and depressed. “You don’t have to. You’re not the first witch or wizard to fall into his net.” Pleadingly, he said: “Hermione, don’t fall for him. Don’t be that stupid. He _is_ a monster, no matter how he challenges your intellect.” 

Xxxx 

_Fall for him. No, she shouldn’t be that stupid, but after what Severus had said, she wondered if he was right, if her falling for the Dark Lord was actually happening. She looked forward to meeting him, to talk to him, to learn, and to discuss with a mind more brilliant than her own. Yes, she loved to discuss magic with Severus too, and he certainly was brilliant too, but the Dark Lord was the only one who ran loops around her arguments, making her see connections between branches of magic that she’d never imagined by herself, and it felt like revelations._

_At the very least, she loved the knowledge. She might even love_ **_him_ ** _a little,_ she thought, feeling shame rush through her. But still, she was determined to help bring him down. 

She could tell by her teachers’ reactions at Hogwarts, that her magical strength was growing far more rapidly than they would have expected, and her essays were better, more concise, and her arguments stronger and more insightful. _Voldemort was making her both stronger and smarter._

The Dark Lord was prodding her mind, making her strive to be better, and he even asked her to repeat the strengthening ritual, this time, taking her out in the woods, making her reach out to find larger rodents and smaller mammals. While she was still dazed by the power coursing through her, he took her up against a giant oak tree, her locking her legs firmly around his too thin waist, his muscles labouring to hold her up. 

Afterwards, he shook his head, muttering: “This damned body is getting too frail. I start to feel my age, almost.” 

Xxxx

By the middle of October, his pet snake, Nagini, died by eating a poisoned rodent in the Malfoy stables. The snake died momentarily, it’s long split tongue swelling up in seconds, choking the animal. 

This time, an enraged Dark Lord called all his followers to a meeting at the Malfoy grounds, including the ones still at school. Draco Malfoy was there, hovering protectively over his pale and stricken mother, while people like Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson stood at the back. 

The silent ranks of black-clad people filled the gardens, like a flock of black crows striving to get a look of today’s prey. A light rain was drizzling down, and tendrils of fog swirled in the gardens, obscuring the view of the grounds. 

On the top of the stairs to the grand house, with downcast eyes, Lucius Malfoy admitted to administering poisons to get rid of the rat-infestation in the stables.

Voldemort snarled at him, his voice more sibilant than usual: “Are you a wizard or no? Can’t you even think of at least one Charm to keep rodents off your property, without resorting to poison? You _knew_ my snake hunted your grounds!” 

The Dark Lord leaned forward, red eyes almost incandescent with barely suppressed rage, his lean chest heaving underneath his black robes. His wand hand lifted, the white wand in his hand swishing threateningly through the air: “ _Avada Kedavra_!” 

Hermione was standing in the ranks at the front by Severus’ side, and her lover watched unflinchingly with dark eyes as his longtime friend was executed, the green flash almost audible, like a hiss of the Dark Lord’s power through the air. 

Severus didn’t twitch an eyelid, but the brief glance at Narcissa Malfoy crumpled at her dead husband’s side, rocking back and forward with keening cries, showed an odd flicker of regret. 

It made her wonder: _Who brewed the poison? Was this a part of the Order’s secret, those memories that had been taken from her?_

At home in their quarters, she asked him, but he shook his head. “Best not to speculate, Hermione,” he said gravely. “The Dark Lord might find out from you.” 

“It’s not like he’s waltzing around in my mind every time,” she said, a little put out. 

“No,” he sneered, “I know he prefers to do other things - and that you enjoy it too.” 

“Merlin’s beard,” she sighed, exasperated. “Please let this go, will you?” 

“It’s a bit hard, when the witch I love is happily in love with my master,” he said, looking both defiant and bitter at the same time. 

“Love him…?” she sputtered, before she caught on to the fact that he had just declared _he_ loved _her_ too. 

“Oh, Severus,” she whispered, feeling breathless. “You know, I love you too.” 

“And him,” he repeated stubbornly. 

“You love Harry’s Mum too,” she said accusingly. “Besides, I don’t love _him_!” 

He snorted. “There’s a world of difference. Lily’s dead, and besides, she was a _good_ person.” 

That night, they went to bed with their backs turned against each other, though in the morning, he kissed her and apologized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lucius, taking the blame for Nagini. Bad, bad Order...! Oh well. Someone had to, but poor Severus...


	15. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kneel, Hermione,” he said, and she obeyed, kneeling at her Lord’s feet. 
> 
> “Give me your left hand.”

Draco Malfoy and Narcissa were ordered to host the Dark Lord’s annual Samhain feast, though they were still in mourning. 

The feast was splendid, but the red-rimmed eyes of Narcissa and the pale, compressed thin lips on Draco’s face told a story of pain, and Hermione felt sorry for them. _Dragging them into party fixing in a time of mourning was just … unnecessary cruel._

It was a formal dinner, with black candles hovering over a long table groaning with the plenty of the land. The Dark Lord presided over the table, seated at the top end in his throne-like chair, and to her surprise, she was seated to the left of Voldemort, with Severus at her side. The Malfoys, however, still in disgrace, were seated at the far end, even though they technically were hosting the feast. Based on the smug glances he threw at the bereft mother and son, the Dark Lord seemed to relish their grief. 

Voldemort clinked his glass in the middle of the meal, rising slowly from his throne, the Death Eaters in attendance immediately ceasing their chattering. 

“My dear friends,” he said, letting his words roll slowly off his tongue. “We’re gathered here to celebrate Samhain. Incidentally, this is also the date of my downfall, due to the Potter brat. Today, we’re stronger than ever, in a prime position with Hogwarts in Severus’ strong hands, and the Ministry well under control by Corban. In fact, Britain belongs to us.” 

Loud cheering erupted, and Voldemort’s lips tugged into his grisly smile, lifting his hands to calm the crowd. “There’s always more to win, more to achieve, even though the paths we may take to victory may seem convoluted. The Potter brat is still out there, and we have a continent to win. Augustus is taking on the European Magical Union as we speak, having secured the cooperation from the French Ministry of Magic, as well as countries like Poland, Switzerland and Norway. We are on our way to word domination!” 

He toasted them all, the Death Eaters grinning like their cheeks would split, and even Narcissa and Draco forced a tremulous smile onto their faces. 

“Today, I will also share with you a special induction into our ranks. Hermione Granger, Squib-born witch, more powerful than most of you, will receive her Mark.” 

_Gods. This was it. He was going to Mark her._ She looked at Severus with panic in her eyes, and he shook his head slightly at her. _She knew it anyway, there was no way out._

Rising slowly, she turned to Voldemort, and his red eyes held an expression she couldn’t recognize. It was soft, almost … warm … like he knew she was scared, and tried to reassure her. 

“Kneel, Hermione,” he said, and she obeyed, kneeling at her Lord’s feet. 

“Give me your left hand.” 

She pulled her sleeve back, showing him the unblemished skin. Her hand shook slightly as she reached out, and he grasped it with his surprisingly warm fingers, holding her wrist tight. 

Lifting his wand to point at her, he whispered - _his magic like a rushing sound filling the room -_ “ _M_ _orsmordre Anima Slytherin.”_ There was a flash of green and silver, making Severus gasp beside her, and the Dark Mark writhed on her arm. _Except, it wasn’t dark. It was green and silver._

Looking questioningly at her Lord, the pale, snake-faced man just smirked at her, shaking his head. 

Severus seemed to be his usual, impassive self, but she could literally feel his unease rolling off him. And as for herself, she felt like she had been had, like she was the butt of someone’s private joke, without even knowing what had happened. 

Xxxx

As the guests enjoyed their Port, Firewhisky, brandy or whatever they preferred as an afterdrink, the Dark Lord beckoned her to follow him to his office. Rising, she saw Severus arch a questioningly eyebrow to Voldemort, but their Lord shook his head, mumbling: “Tonight, she’s all mine, Severus. Go find your pleasure with someone else, or something else.” 

Meeting Severus’ eyes, she couldn’t help but wince at the pain she saw there, but she was glad there had been no more attempts at threesomes. _Severus might have enjoyed the act, but he had been brooding and quiet for days afterwards, clearly regretting the whole thing. She suspected, he also regretted being turned on by the threesome situation, making his jealousy flare even more. And to be frank, she found it a tad disturbing that he had wanted to share her with Voldemort at all._

“My Lord,” she said as the door closed by them. “What’s this Mark? It’s different from the others’.” 

“It is,” he confirmed, but denied her more information. Looking back at the door, he said: “Severus loves you. He’ll take care of you.” 

“I know,” she said, wondering what he was up to. 

Voldemort suddenly chuckled. “He doesn’t like to share, no more than I do.” 

Blinking, she asked: “You are sharing me with him, my Lord, all the time, not only _that_ night.” 

“Yes,” he said, eyes glinting sardonically at her. “Young witches like you need care, and you need to feel loved. Or else you’ll be unhappy, and then you wouldn’t be so useful. I can’t give you that care, but _he_ can. I get what I want from you, and he does too. Unfortunately, for this to work, we must share your delicious body.” 

“Alright,” she said slowly, not understanding what he was aiming at, and then he grinned even more. 

“I know you love me, strange as it is with this body I occupy for the moment, but you do.” 

At that she blushed. _This was her secret, her dirty, dirty secret, and he knew. He’d use it against her. And Severus, he would be hurt._

Voldemort cocked his head. “You’re right about me using this against you, little witch. Though maybe not in the way you think.” 

“What do you want from me, my Lord?” Asking this left her feeling unnerved, like she knew she wouldn’t like the answer. _Though, why fool herself? This was Lord Voldemort, not some lovesick young wizard._

Stopping for a moment, like he was debating with himself, he said reluctantly: “Believe me, girl, I enjoy your company, maybe more than I should. Due to that ritual we did in the fifties, you’ll be the best shag I’ll ever have until one of us die, my pleasure being chained to your being, but I also appreciate your intelligence, your clever mind and your thirst for knowledge. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s all you’ll get, little witch. And it’s more than people usually get from me. Still, you are … I do ... ” 

He shook his head, a grimace of disgust flitting over his face, like he didn’t even _like_ his own thoughts, and he fixed his red glare on her, eyes burning with an intensity that almost scared her. 

Moving in, he kissed her for the first time on the mouth. It was a clashing of teeth and lips, tongues writhing, the kiss as brutal as his lovemaking had ever been, and as she was backed against one of the bookshelves, he broke up the kiss, whispering to her: “Samhain is a very special night for us. Unfortunately, you’ll remember very little of it.” 

Xxxx

She came out of the office dazed, her hair in a wild disarray and thighs slippery with seed, feeling strangely tired and empty, like she had been using all her power and strength to achieve something, though she didn’t know what or why. 

Severus sat right outside the door, jumping up anxiously at the sight of her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes full of concern, even bringing out his wand to do a diagnostic spell on her. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, her words slurred, like she was too tired to even speak. 

“There was some heavy spellcasting in there, we could all see the flashes from beyond the door. People were wondering if he finally killed you, or if you were trying to raise the dead.” 

Severus looked nervous, his hands almost shaking as he grabbed her shoulders, peering at her face. 

“I don’t remember,” she said truthfully. “I have no idea what happened.” 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“He kissed me, and told me I wouldn’t remember anything. Though, I feel like there are things I should remember,” she whispered. She leaned into Severus’ body, taking comfort in his strong arms and broad chest, hearing his heart thudding against his ribcage. As she closed her eyes, everything turned black. 

Xxxx

The next morning, they woke up by an owl pecking angrily on the window in their quarters, making them open their eyes blearily. 

“Are you alright?” Severus asked again, before he sat up in bed to swing the window open by a wave of his hand. 

“Yes, just… very tired,” she yawned. 

“Still no idea about what happened last night?” 

She tried to dig into her mind, but an insurmountable wall blocked her. “No, it’s blocked,” she sighed. “I suppose, it was something awful, then, if he didn’t want me to remember.” 

The Eagle owl swooped in, circling over their bed and landing a letter on the footing, hooting softly as it returned out the window 

“Strange,” Severus muttered, “it didn’t ask for a treat or payment.” 

They both looked at the familiar sigil with the skull and the snake, before Severus sighed, looking pointedly at her left arm. “I can’t even begin to speculate why he’ll choose to write a letter to us. Now, he can Summon us both.” 

“I know,” she replied. She felt so tired, like she had barely slept. Glancing at her new Mark, she found it strangely beautiful. The snake was glittering green, while the skull was silver. It didn’t look as crude as Severus’ Dark Mark, but it was, without doubt, a true Mark of the Dark Lord. 

Leaning forward to grasp the letter, Severus broke the sigil, reading it, and his eyebrows went up to his hairline. “I never…” he mumbled in astonishment. 

“What is it?” she asked nervously. 

“It’s a decree,” he said curtly. “For us, to marry. Today. He’ll do the honours himself.” 

Xxxx

They had hurried out of bed, taking a quick shower together, and tried to dress up as best they could. At the same time, she worked hard to hide the burning disappointment in her gut. _Why would Voldemort give her up to Severus? Was she to be cast away for some obscure reason? Was her time with the Dark Lord at an end?_ The threats from Bellatrix Lestrange, about what Voldemort did with the girls he cast off, as well as her fever dreams, where Voldemort harvested her blood, her marrow and her life force came to mind. _At least, this seemed like a peaceful castaway, not a violent, torturous one._

At Malfoy Manor, they were ushered into his office, where Voldemort sat with a Ministry official, probably someone who’d serve as a witness to the act. 

“There you are,” the Dark Lord said, his voice strangely hoarse and weak, and as he rose, they both noted that he seemed a tad unsteady, like he had suddenly become much, much older overnight. 

Sharing a quick glance, they stood still in front of him, awaiting instructions. He began without any preamble: “Severus, do you take this witch, Hermione Jean Granger, as you wife, to cherish and hold to the end of your days?” 

“I do,” Severus intoned in his deep voice, and a small shiver ran down Hermione’s back. _Marriage. She had never supposed her marriage would be like this, so casual, with no friends or family present._

“Will you protect her and any children born after your union with your body, your life and your magic?” 

“I will,” Severus said, looking a little surprised at the mention of children. 

Voldemort looked somewhat relieved, before turning to Hermione: “Hermione, do you take this wizard, Severus Tobias Snape, as your husband, to cherish and hold to the end of your days?” 

“I do,” she whispered, looking up at Severus’ face. _He looked strangely touched, almost humbled, like he had wanted this. Maybe he had, at that._

“Will you protect him and your children born after you union with your body, your life and your magic?” 

“I will,” she promised. 

Voldemort moved his wand in a complicated movement, making golden strands twist and writhe around their wrists and hands, before it settled around their ring finger like golden wedding bands. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he finished, and a scroll sprang into being from thin air, presenting before them with a quivering quill.

“Sign you names, please, and I’ll return it to the Ministry files,” the nameless official said in a quaking voice. 

They both signed their names with a flourish, and the official bowed his way out, sweating profusely. Hermione supposed, a mere marriage official would never have expected to be summoned by Lord Voldemort, and the man was probably happy he got out alive. 

The Dark Lord turned to them, and he stared straight at Severus with a small tug of his lips. “From now on, you’re allowed to come anywhere you want in her body,” he said. 

Severus shot her a glance, before responding: “Thank you, my Lord.” Somehow, she thought that his thanks was a heartfelt one. Voldemort had caught on to the same thing, from the wry grin that flitted over his skeletal features. 

The Dark Lord slumped down in his chair again, looking very tired and grey, and as she stepped forward, meaning to ask if he was ill, he just waved his hand at them, gritting out: “Go. Leave me.” 

Later, back at Hogwarts, Severus said quietly: “Did you notice the wording? For me, it was any children, and for you, your children. Did he impregnate you, last night?” 

She blanched. “I have no idea,” she whispered.

He nodded grimly. “Time will show. Or else, why would he now allow me to come inside you?” Then a wild, possessive light flickered to life in his black eyes, and he grabbed her, kissing her deeply. 

His tongue delved deep into her mouth, lips moving harshly over her own, and he pressed her body to his.

An overwhelming mix of love for him, her new husband, and the crushing sense of having been abandoned, left and cast away coursed through her, making her emotions run high. Tears fell from her eyes, as she kissed Severus back, clinging to him like he was safety, while missing her other anchor, her Dark Lord. 

Severus gasped into her mouth, hands roaming her body, and he gritted out: “I’m going to have you now, my wife, I’m claiming you, making you mine for real.” 

“Yes,” she groaned back, “take me.” Her body was ready for him, she could feel wetness pooling between her legs, and she ground into the hard length she could feel pressing into her stomach.

“I can’t wait,” he growled, the sound rumbling through his chest, and he pushed her towards his Headmaster’s desk, bending her over the hard, oaken surface.

Severus didn’t bother with removing all of their clothing: her robes were flipped up, her knickers pulled down, and then he was fumbling with his fly to release his cock. He put a strong, warm hand on her neck, pressing her head down, keeping her still, as he pushed inside her, his thick cock slamming home in one, hard thrust. 

“Gods,” he grunted, “gods, to know that you’re all mine, finally, oh, Hermione, I love you!” 

She was glad he couldn’t see her face. Her burning cheeks were hidden by her hair on one side, her other cheek pressed down on the smooth, worn surface of the desk, and she choked out: “I love you too, Severus, oh, I really do.” 

_Because she did, she really loved him, and she would happily spend all her days with this wonderful man, her mentor, lover and partner, the one who’d always support her, but tears were falling, because Voldemort had given her away. He had left her, and there was an aching, sad emptiness inside her, a towering sense of loss and despair, like she’d never feel completely whole again._

Even so, her hips were writhing against her husband’s hips, his cock pounding into her throbbing quim, and as his hands snaked around her to play with her clit, she arched up, grinding against him, feeling so filled up, so tingling hot, so ready to explode into white, pulsing light around the thick cock of her husband. 

“Severus,” she moaned, “Severus, I’m coming for you, please, oh, a little more, OH!” 

His clever fingers flicked her nub, and the world shattered around her, like sheets of glass pulverizing into a brilliant haze, and she thought she might be screaming his name. 

Severus grunted, a long, drawn out “Aaaah,” cock pulsing inside her, hips still thrusting erratically, and then he was filling her up for the first time, shooting his release deep inside her. 

A strange calm fell over her, a sense of belonging. _Like this was supposed to happen._

Severus leaned heavily on her, his hands still with a harsh grip around her hips, and his voice was broken as he choked out: “I feel like home.” 

He was breathing hard, and she could literally feel he was composing himself behind her, settling into his controlled persona, before he spoke again, his voice now the usual, deep and calm cadence: “The wedding vows settling, I believe. I had no idea this kind of magic was so strong.” 

Xxxx

Voldemort Summoned her, one last time, two days after the unexpected marriage. There was, unusually enough, no sex, but he served her tea, telling her quite openly that the secret ritual had tapped him for much of his strength, both physically and magically. 

“I need a new strengthening ritual, that will renew my body and magic. This time, I’ll do it alone, at midnight, on 5 November, in the Avebury ring,” he said, voice rasping and hoarse, and his red eyes looked bleary and red-rimmed in his grey and pallid face. His features were more gaunt and skeletal than she had ever seen, like the skin was stretched too tight on his skull, like yellowing, mottled parchment, and he moved slowly, painfully. 

“Of course,” she said, wondering why he’d share something like this with her, when he wouldn’t tell her what the ritual that had tapped his strength had done for him. Surely, whatever it had done, there was very little benefit to him right now, as he looked very ill, almost like a shadow of himself. 

He gave her a brief, knowing smile, and said: “You’re a clever witch, you’ll figure it out in time,” making her squirm on her chair by the ease with which he read her mind. 

As she was leaving, he tried to rise from his chair to see her out, struggling to get up, weak arms shaking with the effort, and she looked at him, horrified. 

“Oh, please, sit,” she said, worry gnawing at her guts, as she gently pushed him back into the chair. _What_ **_had_ ** _he done?_

He gave her a rueful look, and shook his head. “No one tells the Dark Lord what to do, not even _you,_ my sweet witch.” 

Staggering to his feet, he pulled her into his arms, giving her a long, deep kiss. The quality of it was almost gentle, not like the remembered, harsh kiss from Samhain, and she sighed into his mouth. 

Brusquely, he pushed off, and said with a wry grin: “Go back to your husband, Hermione.” 

In the Malfoy gardens, she stopped on her way to the gates, wiping her eyes as half-choked sobs escaped her. She felt as if Bellatrix would turn around the corner of the hedges, taunting her with “I told you so.” 

_And the witch would be right, wouldn’t she?_

Xxxx

  


The ensuing discussion on the intel had been long and exhausting, McGonagall and Severus arguing back and forth. 

“It’s too much of a coincidence,” Severus warned, “he’s certainly smart enough to fool us into believing he’s weak, setting a trap for the Order.” 

She wondered too, because really, what were the odds? _Did Voldemort trust her that much? It seemed unlikely, however much there was a part of her that dearly wanted to believe that._

In the end, Severus said, glancing briefly at her belly, “maybe he _does_ trust you that much, at that. If it’s true, we will never have a better shot at him. He’s weakened, alone and away from the strongly warded Malfoy Manor.” 

MCGonagall set up the ambush, consisting of Order members and Harry, while she and Severus would stay at Hogwarts. Harry, flanked by McGonagall herself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lupin, Arthur and Molly Weasley and Ron, would lay a trap at the Avebury ring, but being ready to flee at any sign of disturbance. 

That night, she couldn’t sleep, thoughts churning about the Greater Good, the right thing to do, saving the world and such questions - and how that held up against love. But she knew, there was no alternative. She would have to sacrifice her love for the Dark Lord, even though it was tearing her apart. _It was the right thing to do._

Turning in bed at night, she knew Severus was awake too, awaiting news of how the ambush would go. 

At exactly seven minutes past midnight, she lurched up, feeling a sudden pressure in her belly, like it was swelling, throbbing with power. Groaning, she clutched her flat stomach, panting heavily, while Severus said worriedly: “What is it? What’s the matter, love?” 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “I don’t know.” _Inside, she felt a fluttering fear. She had been wrong, hadn’t she? He had known everything all along, and now, Lord Voldemort had outsmarted them. She had no idea as to how, but she knew in her heart, the Order hadn’t won this night. Voldemort had just scored a massive victory, she just knew it, and a secret, joyous feeling welled up._

The shock was overwhelming, when a grinning, gleeful McGonagall requested entry to the Head’s office, almost jumping in excitement when she told them the news: Harry had killed Lord Voldemort, and there had been no other casualties. 

The old witch was jubilant, still high from the battle, Conjuring crystal tumblers and Summoning Severus’ best Firewhisky. 

Severus looked shaken, but happy. Blinking, he said, voice almost breaking: “It seems almost too easy, that he’s gone, just like that.” 

“I know!” McGonagall crowed, clinking her glass against Severus’ tumbler, “I know!” 

Hermione tried to hide her dismay and guilt - _would she rather have her lover kill Harry? She didn’t want to examine that line of thought any further, burying it deep inside behind her shields._ Bravely plastering a smile on her face, she knew she could never tell anyone how she felt. 

_She had thought - no, she had_ **_felt_ ** _\- his victory, but she must have been wrong. And now, she felt so bereft, so sad, like this was achingly, achingly wrong. She was supposed to rejoice in her lover’s downfall. Well, she could do it, she had been a successful spy, hadn’t she?_

Swallowing, she gripped her tumbler, lifting it to her mouth. Swilling her whisky, smelling the aroma of the pungent Firewhisky, she felt an instant nausea. _Who in their right mind drank this stuff?_

Beaming, McGonagall continued: “I’ve told Harry and the others about your involvement. They are shocked, but happy, but it will take some time before they manage to process it fully. I guess there will be a trial of some sort, but rest assured, you’ll never set a foot in Azkaban or even face imprisonment for this, Kingsley has promised it.”

Somehow, Hermione didn’t think it was all worth it. _A world without Voldemort, his knowledge and power, would be a dull and dreary place indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait - what? Did I forget to put up a tag for Major Character Death? Noooo… *runs into hiding* 
> 
> Rest assured, all you Volmione fangirls! Remember, who’s our favourite king of manipulation and resurrection? *grins* 
> 
> On the other hand, I’m equally rooting for Sevmione. You can see why this fic had to be written? *laughs* 
> 
> Oh, well, the next chapter is the very last one, and all will be resolved.


	16. Epilogue: The Future is Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like I said, he takes after his father. In everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And ... it's finished!

“Your son is so handsome,” Ginny said, smiling at Hermione, as the Potter’s oldest boy, James, played with Hermione’s own in the garden.

Hermione and Severus were on one of their rare visits to England, and for once, the English summer showed itself from its best side, at least in Godric’s Hollow. It was warm and sunny, and dappled shade from the great trees in the Potter’s garden made the temperature bearable. 

After the Dark Lord’s fall, Hermione and Severus had decided the attention from the Wizarding community was too much, and the continuing apologies from acquaintances and friends were becoming increasingly awkward. Fleeing an endless row of inquires about interviews from journalists and researchers, as well as the general gawking of the public, they had packed up as soon as Hermione had taken all her NEWTS, settling in Paris for her studies at Sorbonne. Severus had started his own brewing company, researching and manufacturing potions for apothecaries and other distributors.

Now, eleven years later, his company had grown into worldwide distribution of his potions, while she had become a Professor at Sorbonne herself, teaching Theoretical Magic, famous and respected for her groundbreaking research, but also infamous for frequently crediting Lord Voldemort as a source in her articles and books. 

Her son, however, had been born a mere nine months after the shotgun wedding officiated by Voldemort himself. She was forever thankful for the way Severus had handled this, and he had proven his worth as a wizard, man and husband. It was clear, he had struggled with the fact that he was going to raise Voldemort’s child as his own, but he had been a pillar of strength for her, showing her unwavering support when she grieved for her lost Lord and went through all the anxiety and pains of becoming a mother. _But it was worth it. She loved her son fiercely, protectively, with all her heart, and she’d do anything for him. Even destroy the world._

Then her son’s magic manifested: strongly, quickly and surprisingly controlled. And to their mutual shock, Severus’ horror and Hermione’s secret joy, both recognized the boy’s magical signature. 

_“It’s him, isn’t it?” Severus had groaned, clutching a tumbler of Firewhisky, late one night the year their son turned two. “This isn’t his son. It’s him, the fucking Dark Lord reborn. How in the name of Merlin did he manage this? And does he know?”_

_“I don’t know,” she whispered, biting her lip as she looked down on the crib, where her beautiful, dark-haired child was sleeping, one hand tucked underneath his chin. He looked so innocent, so sweet, and she couldn’t really believe that Voldemort, the cruel, brilliant yet passionate man she had loved, was inside her baby boy - WAS her baby boy. But her heart soared, because the world suddenly seemed so much brighter._

For years afterwards, she had worked ceaselessly to discover how her son came to be, and what had happened to her on that Samhain night. Research showed that there weren’t any theories that could explain what had happened, but it only made her work harder. 

Slowly, she came to the realization that she might need to take action, just to make sure her life - _her son, the light of her life_ \- was to be a reality, and the blockage in her mind as to what had happened slowly dissipated. Her breakthrough as a renowned scientist was the work ‘ _The Manipulation of Time and Matter’_. The book had, of course, been delivered to him in the past, as she remembered seeing it during one of her visits. 

Xxxx

_Voldemort had been pleased to see her, and she had enjoyed his presence immensely. For that first visit, they had been discussing her work throughout the night, ending with a rough shag at dawn, as the pale light filtered into his office. The sun might have risen, but she saw stars as the Dark Lord made her orgasm on his cock, as she clung to his frame when he took her hard against the wall._

_Afterwards, she had sobbed into his shoulder, telling him she missed him - the_ **_adult_ ** _him - and surprisingly, he had let her cry in his arms. Before she left, he asked her to return, to tell him about his future._

_After her first trip to the past, upon seeing the handprints and marks on her body, Severus had set his jaw angrily, and he hadn’t talked to her for days and days. The only thing that had moved him to speak to her again, was the promise of giving him a child too. He had taken her roughly, like he was still furious, but in the end, he gasped into her mouth as he came: “”Gods, I love you, Hermione. No matter what you do, I love you.”_

_Their three-year old daughter Eileen, a quiet child, always observing her surroundings with her dark eyes, long black curls in adorable ringlets down her back, were currently napping inside the house._

_Her trips to the past, however, continued. “You are delightfully clever,” Voldemort told her, receiving her cloaked and shrouded form in secret on the nights her young self was absent, “both the younger you and your adult self. You do, however, lack a certain creativity in your approach. Let yourself be guided by your magic, Hermione, not only your rationality and logic. Your research will be better for it.”_

_She remembered him saying something similar to her younger self, and she only glowered at him. That just made him laugh, telling her that it was refreshing for someone to oppose him._

_It had been difficult to convince Voldemort that he should get himself killed to achieve a new, strong body, but her research and his own findings were supporting her ideas._

_“Creating a new body is exceedingly difficult,” he mused. “I’ve exhausted almost every possibility, except the solution you’re offering. There is, however, a problem. I need to gather and assemble the split pieces of my soul, because such a Transfiguration of matter into a new body depends on the soul being whole.”_

_In the end, she hadn’t solved the how of it, but_ **_he_ ** _had, applying his mind and power to manipulate both time and matter, finding the solution on how he could transform dead Horcruxes into a living soul, anchoring it into new flesh._

_“Like a snake shedding its skin,” he said thoughtfully, before finally nodding to her. “We’ll do this. I will make your future become a reality. My future.”_

_They had also discussed the event that set everything into motion - her broken Time-Turner. Voldemort had shrugged: “I’ll take care of it. There was a man bumping into you, wasn’t it? I see no reason as to why that shouldn’t be me. After all, moving through time has become significantly easier by your research. Tell me, was it you who planted the idea of your first Time-travel in Dumbledore’s head, too?” At that, she fell silent._

_So, they had indeed raised the dead on Samhain - he had used her younger self’s power and his own to harvest all the dead Horcruxes from the realm beyond into her living body, his seed creating life within her - and by his death, the final piece had followed the others to the new vessel they had created, making the child growing in her whole._

Xxxx

“Tam looks exactly like his father,” Hermione said with a small smile. 

Ginny laughed. “Come on, Hermione, Snape - sorry, I mean _Severus_ \- has surely never been that good looking. Even _you_ cannot believe that.” 

Hermione shrugged. “Like I said, he takes after his father. In everything.” 

“Yes, yes,” Ginny chuckled good-naturedly, clearly not wanting to start a fight about how Hermione perceived her husband. “I understand, he’s very powerful for his age, isn’t he?” 

“He is,” she confirmed with a small laugh, “very much so, and very concerned about his magical education too. At the moment, he’s trying to decide if he’ll attend Hogwarts, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, and he’s doing an extensively study on the staff’s academic records, their magical merits and the general ranking in test scores at the schools over the last ten years.” 

The boys had now mounted brooms, and were zooming carefree about in the garden, laughing and shouting at each other. 

Ginny whistled softly. “Wow, that’s a far cry from what James does, though there’s no wonder that yours and Severus’ child would be some kind of brain prodigy.” She laughed merrily, following her son with her eyes as he careened in and out between the trees. “James has decided he’ll be Quidditch Captain, but as for the rest, he’s not interested at all.” 

Hermione grinned. “He’s a good flier, though.” 

Her son stopped in front of them, hovering, and gave the two witches a wide, charming smile and a wave with his hand, the greenish-silvery birthmark on his left arm flashing into brief visibility in the sunlight. His dark eyes almost sparkled at them, and the ink-black hair fell into his eyes, before he swept the hair away with a practised movement. 

“He’s definitely going to be a charmer,” Ginny mumbled as he shot off, and Hermione nodded. 

“Tam, his name, that’s of Scottish origin, isn’t it? It’s unusual,” Ginny said, glancing at her own dark-haired boy, who were now hanging upside down from his broom, grinning like a madman. 

“Yes,” Hermione said stiffly. “It means ‘twin’.” 

At that exact moment, James fell off his broom, landing on his head. Ginny cursed under her breath, and rushed off to see to him. 

Tam stopped, looking innocently at the spectacle, James crying, Ginny soothing, and then Hermione felt the strong arms of her husband snaking around her waist from behind. 

“It’s only a matter of time before someone notices,” he said softly. 

“Shh,” she said, shaking her head. “If so happens, we’ll deal with it.”

He snorted. “Or else, he’ll try to do so himself. It better be us. He may not remember yet, but all his instincts are there. You know as well as I do, he’d take pride in being compared to _him._ ” 

_Voldermort had decided, his memories would be blocked until his seventeenth birthday, because a child couldn’t be trusted with his knowledge. The risk of being discovered by his own actions would be too great. Privately, Hermione agreed. The Dark Lord’s full power and knowledge in a temperamental toddler or teenager would be a nightmare. Still, at times, she wondered if there were cracks in the blockage._

“That’s why he shouldn’t go to Hogwarts, though I think he wants to,” she mumbled, leaning back into her husband’s chest. “The memories are still fresh in Britain.” 

Sighing contentedly, she enjoyed the feeling of his body against her. She was wearing a flimsy summer dress, befitting the warm weather, and even Severus had foregone his frock coat, wearing only a shirt with rolled-up sleeves and trousers. The warmth from his body seeped into her skin comfortably, the thin fabrics between their bodies not being much of a barrier. 

_Severus looked good,_ she thought, her hands clasping his larger ones, _being almost fifty suited him. He wasn’t as thin as in the days of his role as a double agent, and more sun, more food and a peaceful life dedicated to research and brewing had served him well. Even the strands of silver in his hair looked good - distinguished, she rather thought._

The Dark Mark was as fiercely black as ever on his left arm, while her green and silver Mark adorned her own. _No one had questioned why the Dark Mark didn’t fade after Voldemort’s fall, but then again, she supposed very few knew had in-depth knowledge of how magical bindings worked. In France, at least, most people only thought they had a family tattoo. Still, she made sure to refresh the Notice-Me-Not on Tam’s arm frequently._

The world had been a safe place, these last, eleven years. Rebuilding, education, research and prosperity had been on everyone’s mind, at least after the Death Eaters were rounded up for their trials. Most of them had been found, excepting one notorious witch. In the aftermath of the war, no one could seem to find Bellatrix Lestrange. _However, Hermione was very pleased with the pokers in her fireplace tool set._

The familiar, spicy scent of her husband mingled with the roses blooming in Harry and Ginny’s garden, and she whispered contentedly: “I love you, Severus.”

He snorted. “You loved him more - you love _him_ more.” 

Rolling her eyes - _would this discussion never end? -_ she retorted: “And you, you loved Lily more than me.” 

“And yet,” he said ruefully, placating her, stroking her arms, “we’re happy. You know I love you too. I’m sorry I brought it up, this discussion is old and futile. But sometimes … it’s still hard. Especially when we talk about it.” 

“Yes,” she sighed. “I know. But I’ve got you, and Tam. I’m happy.” 

From a distance, her son cocked his head, like he knew they were talking about him. He cast her a glance, but somehow, his eyes always seemed much too knowing for his age, like he knew a secret she wasn’t fully in on. He turned his head as his eyes followed Ginny leading a sobbing James back into the house, a wicked little smile playing on his lips.

And Hermione couldn’t help wonder, had she done the right thing? _If she had sacrificed her heart on the altar of the Greater Good, wouldn’t that make her evil?_

She supposed, Dumbledore would have told her to choose the Greater Good, to make sure Voldemort would never come back, but she wasn’t so sure _._ If love went out of the equation, the future would be a bleak place. Her own love for her son - _for her Dark Lord_ \- had been the driving force behind her research. When the breakthrough came in her research, she had chosen him, chosen to go back to give the adult him the final clues to achieve a new body, a method for immortality, by her ideas of manipulating time and matter. _In the end, who was the great manipulator? He, who had split his soul and killed his body to achieve a new future, or herself, who had made it possible? As always, Hermione didn’t want to think too hard on that question._

As for now, only time could tell what the result of her choice would be. At least, the future was bright for her family, if not so much for the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a blast, writing this. The story had been sitting in my head for a couple of weeks, when, during my summer vacation, it suddenly turned into a full-fledged obsession. I stopped writing the other story I was working on (a new Snamione), and plunged headfirst into this. It was written within less than two weeks, bar editing. My family wasn’t too happy about it, though. 
> 
> This story is for those of you who are just as deviant as me: loving Hermione with both Severus and Voldemort. Thank you for reading this, and sticking with my slightly insane plot - - but don’t ask me if the sexual binding survived. I’d rather not think about that… *rolls eyes*


	17. Too Much Is Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now, he felt … fucking fantastic. Like he was young again, so young, so strong and so very powerful, just on the cusp of taking what he wanted from the world. He could do anything. Absolutely anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wasn’t going to write a continuation because of the inherent ickiness in the future relationship between Tam and Hermione, but… I guess I lied. *grins* 
> 
> Don’t worry, though, the tags still hold true. No too-squicky surprises. 
> 
> Do you remember the song “Fame”? It hit my earphones again sometime in February, and OMG, listening to the lyrics with Tam in mind is just… chilling. I got goosebumps, and a oneshot to churn in my head as well. And voila! Here it is: A short piece (which doesn’t make sense at all without reading the rest of the fic) telling the story of a young man named Tam Granger Snape’s seventeenth birthday… 
> 
> The thing is, I’ve always understood “Fame” as that sort of exuberant, hopeful feeling of power - you can do anything - that is a part of being young and happy. But … if you read the lyrics with a certain clever sociopath in mind, who aims to win the world and live forever, well, the impression is very much different, even sinister. For me, the lyrics show Tam/ Voldemort on the cusp of remembering who he is. 
> 
> ***  
> Baby, look at me  
> And tell me what you see  
> You ain't seen the best of me yet  
> Give me time  
> I'll make you forget the rest  
> I got more in me  
> And you can set it free  
> I can catch the moon in my hand  
> Don't you know who I am
> 
> Remember my name, fame  
> I'm gonna live forever  
> I'm gonna learn how to fly, high  
> I feel it coming together  
> People will see me and cry, fame  
> I'm gonna make it to heaven  
> Light up the sky like a flame, fame  
> I'm gonna live forever  
> Baby, remember my name  
> Remember, remember, remember, remember
> 
> Baby, hold me tight  
> Cause you can make it right  
> You can shoot me straight to the top  
> Give me love and take all I got to give  
> Baby, I'll be tough  
> Too much is not enough  
> I will ride your heart 'till it breaks  
> Ooh, I got what it takes
> 
> Fame
> 
> I'm gonna live forever  
> I'm gonna learn how to fly, high  
> I feel it coming together  
> People will see me and cry, fame  
> I'm gonna make it to heaven  
> Light up the sky like a flame, fame  
> I'm gonna live forever  
> Baby, remember my name  
> Remember, remember, remember, remember

Groaning, he burrowed his head into the down pillow. His room was spelled cold against the July heat of Paris, just like he preferred, but this morning, his head felt … fuzzy. Slow and sluggish, thoughts moving like thick syrup. Like he had indulged in too much wine the night before, but he hadn’t. 

Rolling over on his back, he stared at the forest green canopy of his bed. _Seventeen._ It was his birthday, and he had finally come of age. Scratching his stomach, his hands brushed against the head of his cock, making it twitch against the hard planes of his belly. As usual, he had woken up hard. 

_Normally, it would be time to have a quick wank before breakfast, but today, his parents and his little sister would knock on his bedroom door any minute, with a birthday cake and presents._

_Or if he had been at school, in the Durmstrang Head Boy Chamber that would be his for the upcoming school year, he could have had his pick of the land with pretty girls begging to suck his cock._

Sighing, rolling his shoulders and stretching, he decided he’d land himself a birthday fuck sometime later today to make up for the lost wank opportunity. Shaking his head, he tried to get rid of that fuzzy, annoying feeling in his brain. It was irritating, like a dull headache - like he was trying to remember something. _Maybe it was a sign that the Underage Trace was unravelling. But no, he was sure, the Trace dissipating wouldn’t feel like that. He just knew it, like he knew a lot of things. Deja Vu - that was his life story, it seemed. Whenever he read a magical theory for the first time, he would recognize it, like the knowledge was buried deep in his mind._

No matter that, this headache wouldn’t do, because today, he was allowed access into the Sorbonne Bibliothèque Secrète, the Restricted Section of the Parisian magical university, courtesy of his brilliant mother. _And he wasn’t about to waste that first time into the world’s finest Dark Arts library by being indisposed. Today, he was going to soak up as much as he could of the dark magic known to Sorbonne, because there could never be enough. Never in a lifetime, never, even if he lived forever. Everything was his for the taking today._

_Knock, knock!_

The predictable knocking on the door sounded timid this year, not cheery and forceful as usual. The door creaked, and his Mum and Dad poked their head inside. Curiously enough, they both looked sort of fearful. 

“I’m awake,” he grunted. 

His mother blinked, big doe-eyes concerned and almost liquid in the dim half-light. “Tam,” she said, her voice almost trembling, “Tam, happy birthday. How do you feel?” 

“Headache,” he mumbled. _Did he look that bad, due to his headache?_

His father rumbled: “I’ll get you a Pain Reliever. Just a second.” 

The faint whoosh of his father’s familiar magic whisked down the stairs, and a phial came sailing into the bedroom, landing on his duvet. 

“Thanks, Dad,” he muttered, uncorking the phial, drinking the potion greedily. The headache cleared like it should, but the fuzziness persisted. 

His mother stepped into the room, her hands clasped tightly around a cream cake with seventeen candles. Sitting down on his bed, the springs creaking, she smiled tremulously at him. “Blow out the candles, for _good luck_ , Tam.” 

“Yes, blow the candles, Tam, make a wish!” his little sister whined, jumping up and down on her ballet flats, black springy curls bouncing. She had dressed up for him today, wearing a green summer dress with glittering sequins, making her pale complexion stand out against her dark hair. _Little Eileen had inherited the colouring from their father, but thankfully, she had their mother’s features. She was going to be a beauty one day._

His mother reached out a hand, smoothing his hair back from his brow. The gesture was familiar - _and yet not_ . Looking at her, he suddenly noted that his mother looked _pretty._ Underneath the duvet, his cock jerked slightly, and he drew in a shocked gasp, camouflaging it like he was filling his lungs with air for blowing out the candles. _This was wrong. He very well knew, his limits for right or wrong were different than other people’s, but this… this had to be a new low. He shouldn’t think like that about his own mother. It was wrong._

With one blow, he extinguished the candles, and his parents smiled, and Eileen clapped her hands in delight. Oddly enough, his parents looked relieved, but Eileen yelled: “Did you make a wish, Tom? Did you make a wish?” 

He just winked at the girl, making her grin widely in return. 

“No presents?” he asked, eyebrow cocking in surprise, seeing as none of them had brought anything. 

“No,” his father said slowly. “We do have a present for you, but maybe… later in the day. You’ll see.” 

Xxxx

_Of course, he very well knew that Severus Snape wasn’t his father. His mother didn’t know that he knew, though, but he had confronted Severus on the matter three years ago. Apart from the black hair and dark eyes, they looked nothing alike. After all, Tam was a voracious reader, and he had found pictures in books of who he looked like. It had all added up. To be frank, the pictures proved that he was the spitting image of a certain wizard. And there was the matter of his strength, unparallelled, as his Durmstrang teachers said._

_That night, his mother had gone to bed, and his father sat in front of the fireplace in their large, comfortable Paris apartment, nursing a Firewhisky. It was the day before New Years Eve, and Tam felt this was as good an opportunity as any._

_“Dad,” he said, sitting down in the opposite chair._

_His father fixed him with that dark, inscrutable glare of his, which still made Tam straighten his back, like he had done something wrong. The fireplace crackled, usually a cosy sound, but tonight, it sounded ominous._

_“You’re not my real father, are you?”_

_True to his years as a spy, Severus Snape didn’t bat an eyelid._

_“No, I’m not,” he said calmly, still looking at Tam. Then he cleared his throat: “But I have sworn to protect you and care for you as my own. I will stand by that, Tam, being your father in everything but the deed that created you.”_

_Tam swallowed. “I think I know who…”_

_Severus - his Dad who_ **_wasn’t_ ** _his Dad - shook his head. “I’m not going to answer that, Tam. This is your mother’s story to tell, not mine. You can ask her. She will tell you herself, when the time comes.”_

_Tam furrowed his brows. “I need to know, Dad. Did he force her? Was it rape? I mean, he was … you know.”_

_An uneasy silence filled the room, seeping into the deepest recesses of Tam’s mind, and a bitter expression flitted across his father’s face._

_Severus Snape drained his glass, slamming it down on the table. With a heavy sigh, his Dad replied: “No. No, it was consensual.”_

After that, he had attributed the odd flashes of knowledge, of _remembered_ spells, to the fact that he - apparently - was the son of Lord Voldemort. He had read all about the man, of course, but strangely - something inside himself refrained from _asking_ his parents anything more. Being very much aware of the role they had played in the war, he knew they would have more knowledge about the man than most historians, but somehow, it felt wrong. As for what his mother must have done, his mind seemed to shy away from thinking about _that_. 

Xxxx

After breakfast, consisting of his usual light meal of croissants, fresh fruit and three espressos, he rose from the table. His mother and father were still having their tea, holding on to their British customs after years of living in France, but Eileen, at nine, already had begun drinking coffee, because she wanted to be like him. _That is, if you could call that single drop of coffee spilled in hot milk a proper café au lait. Though, he liked to indulge his little sister, telling her what a good girl she was, taking her coffee so well._

The July sun shone in through the tall windows in the dining room, and looking outside, he could see the large trees at the Place des Vosges swaying gently in a slight breeze, the breath of wind cooling the air before the heat would peak after noon. _It was the perfect birthday weather: Warm, sunny and with good chances of catching the eyes of skimpy-clad girls in the streets. Though, he’d spend most of the day inside._

“So, I’m heading over to Sorbonne to explore the Restricted Section,” he said, giving his mother a big smile. “Thank you, Mum, this is actually the nicest present I ever could have gotten. I’ve been itching to go there for years.” 

“I want to go with you too!” Eileen said sullenly, but their Dad shook his head.

“You can’t, Eileen. It’s only for adult wizards and witches. Tam wasn’t able to go either before he came of age today, and then only by Mum’s intervention.” 

His little sister’s black eyes turned murderous, before she sighed deeply, looking heavenward in a dramatic fashion. 

Then she caught his eyes, winking at him. “Bring back a dark spell for me, will you Tam?” she said sweetly. 

“Eileen!” Both of their parents made an exasperated groan, and Tam couldn’t help laughing. 

_Eileen’s interest in the Dark Arts was a puzzle to their parents, though not to him. Because it was the Dark Arts, so … what’s not to like? He had taught her lots of interesting spells over the years. The little girl was fiendishly clever, just like him, and in her first year at school, she had gotten a lot of grief from her classmates because of that. But he was not having it: No one was to try to make fun of his little sister when he wasn’t around. She had to be able to defend herself. He remembered teaching her dark spells through the Floo in the Durmstrang Common Room, kneeling in front of the fireplace, his head into the green fire connecting him to the fireplace in her bedroom._

_And now she did defend herself ruthlessly, to their parents’ endless frustrations. Besides, Tam always thought their Dad was one to talk. He had been all into the Dark Arts from a very young age too. Everyone knew that._

To Tam, magic was simply magic. He couldn’t see why people kicked up such a fuzz. There were no dark spells nor good spells, because it all depended on what you did with it. You could freeze a person to death, shattering bones like shards of ice with a perfectly normal Cooling Charm. Was that any better than using the Killing Curse? So what if some spells demanded a sacrifice, or if they were harmful. A lot of spells could be utilized to kill and maim, not only the so-called, lovely Dark Arts. 

“Alright, don’t forget the birthday dinner at Brasserie Bofinger at eight,” his mother said sternly, but her warm eyes belied the intention. 

“I won’t, Mum,” he promised, leaning down to kiss her cheek. 

His father shifted on his chair, a pained expression on his face, and then his mother withdrew from his embrace, looking suddenly pale. 

Slamming the door behind him, Tam couldn’t really be bothered by their odd behaviour, because today, he’d see the infamous Sorbonne Bibliothèque Secrète. 

He whistled to himself, taking the stairs three steps at the time, before entering the arcades surrounding Place des Vosges, passing by the Café Hugo, stealing a kiss from the pretty waitress he had been fucking from time to time this summer. 

“Tam! I have customers!” she whined reproachfully, but he just laughed, sauntering off towards the river. 

Xxxx

Hours later, he felt almost drunk on knowledge, having crammed in as much reading in as he possibly could, with no breaks at all for lunch or bathroom. _There was so much to read, so much to see…_

His head was still hurting, the fuzziness inside seemingly growing, but he paid no attention to it. _He wasn’t going to waste this opportunity…_

As the bell tower rang four o’clock, the headache suddenly escalated. Gasping, he clutched his head, feeling a terrible pain, like something was trying to break out of his brain. His magic surged, overpowering him, almost tearing out of him, uncontrollably. For a wild, panicked moment, he thought he was becoming an Obscurus, his magic lashing out wildly, _but certainly not, not him, that would be impossible…_

Then he seized up, falling off his chair, losing control of his body. The sickening thought of this being a common illness - _a stroke, a heart attack, that he’d die from something as prosaic as that, like a mere Muggle -_ made him deathly afraid. _He shouldn’t die, not yet, no NEVER…!_

But his feet drummed uncontrollably on the cold stone floor, his arms convulsed, he let out a hoarse yell - _from far off, he noticed people came running_ \- and all went black. 

Xxxx

He woke up in a hospital bed, stiff, starched white sheets irritating his skin. Blinking, he took in the room, knowing instantly that he must have been admitted to the L’hôpital des Saintes Sorcières de la Place Larue. _The magical hospital - someone must have brought him in, then. But now, he felt … fucking fantastic. Like he was young again, so young, so strong and so very powerful, just on the cusp of taking what he wanted from the world. He could do anything. Absolutely anything._

 _Wait… young?_ Dumbfounded, he tried to reconcile that thought, which he knew to be _true_ , with the fact that he was seventeen. _He had never been old, had he?_

_Then the memories came rushing in, melding, a life of being the young, pampered son of the wealthy Professor and the top Potioneer, and another life of being brought up poor, grabbing all the power he could to survive, gathering knowledge to rise to power, wielding Dark Magic, destroying himself, starting wars and killing - both of his two lifetimes blending into one seamless life…_

_Oh Merlin._ He sank back on the pillow, eyes mindlessly following the spidery cracks in the roof as he almost drowned in the torrent of memories, thoughts and plans. 

Xxxx

Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door, and his mother rushed in, followed by his ...father. 

They both stopped by his side, looking down at him, and he idly wondered: _In what way was he supposed to greet his mother and lover, and his obviously traitorous lieutenant and so-called father?_

 _Well, at least no one else should listen to this conversation._ The doors slammed shut behind them, the lock turning, and he set a Silencing Spell on the room. He sighed, enjoying the flexing of his magic. _Gods, this was so good, to be back in full power, and with a strong body too._

“Oh…” his mother - _Hermione -_ said, her lip quivering. 

“You’re back,” his father - _Severus -_ breathed. 

Sitting up in bed, still in his white hospital shirt, he nodded at them, feeling a curious mix of amusement and embarrassment. _They had brought him up, changed his nappies, and yet, in the past life, he had been their Lord, ordering them about, seen them both naked, participated in acts that almost made his seventeen year old self blush._

To be frank, he wasn’t exactly who he remembered himself to be: not the man, and certainly not the boy, but a curious mix. _Old and young at the same time, but there was a constant: His magical power, and his indomitable will to bend the world to his liking._

“It’s me,” he confirmed, his voice more shaky than he would have liked. 

Silence fell, feeling like a heavy weight pressing down on the room. _Because… now what?_

Then his father - Severus - said, ever practical: “I suppose you don’t need that last year at Durmstrang.” 

“No,” he said, a small smile curling around his mouth, though there was a pang in his chest. _He had looked forward to being Head Boy, having his own room, being the most powerful and influential student in school…._ Internally, he scoffed at himself. _Ruling a school? Why, he had already done that at Hogwarts in the distant past._

His mother - Hermione - said sternly: “You should take the exam anyway, because you’ll never know when even you might need the formal papers.” 

At that, he did grin. “Yes, _mother,”_ he said sarcastically, “even I could need that. I will arrange it, don’t worry.” 

“What will you do?” Severus asked, looking strangely curious. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I might take a trip around the world, see if there’s anything new, find some exciting magical discoveries. Make new plans for how to handle this … the world as it is now.” _Because he would take the world, though he had to find a smart way to go about it._

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking away, her bottom lip quivering. For a moment, he wondered who she’d miss the most: Her son, or his father. _Better not go there yet,_ he told himself. _He wasn’t quite ready to face that particular fact of his life. In fact, he needed time. This was… too awkward._

He was still their Lord, but … These people had also brought him up like he deserved: As loving parents, supporting and developing his magic, helping him to be able to learn as much as he liked. 

_He remembered late night brewing with Severus, the man letting the small boy stay up way past bedtime to participate in experiments, and his mother discussing her theoretical research with him, teaching him how to argue, how to understand and discuss concepts far beyond his years._

_Though, he had always hated it when she went on ethical rants: Shouting about something she didn’t think was right in the world, her finger pointing - often at him, as if he could do anything about it. Though, given who he was, maybe she had actually thought he was responsible for some of it. He had quickly learned to fake an interested expression while letting his mind wander, though at times, he was busted by the glazed look in his eyes. Or Severus had intervened, saying quietly: “Hermione, let the boy be. I’m sure his interest in the international magical crime rates is fairly limited at the moment.”_

_It was true, though, he had never cared much for right or wrong, except when it suited himself. He had, however, always innately known that he had to hide those sentiments from everyone. Then again, at times her rants had gotten through to him. Mostly in those cases, however, where he could spot opportunities by being seen doing the ‘right’ thing. Still, in some way these discussions had changed him, fundamentally, and he needed to find out how. But the truth of the matter was, he genuinely liked these people. They had taken good care of him. Treated him well, even knowing who he was. He had always felt … cherished._

Clearing his throat, he told Severus, the seventeen-year old boy in him shining through: “Sorry about putting you through your paces like that. Before.” 

Severus Snape looked simply astounded, like he had been presented with a sentient talking cauldron, before he nodded stiffly. “Thank you.” Shaking his head, like he debated the wisdom of his words, he finally said: “I came to care for you. I mean, the child you were.” 

Grinning, the vicious old wizard back in control again, Voldemort replied: “And that’s a miracle, if I’ve seen one.” 

Severus huffed, looking away, half amused, but also clearly embarrassed. 

  
  


Xxxx

At the Brasserie Bofinger, they ordered a large seafood platter with oysters, lobster, clams, prawns and shrimps. The lovely Belle Epoque decor was very pleasing to the eye, with the coloured glass dome in the roof, the sweeping staircase, the mirrors and the prim, white table cloths. As he leaned back on the upholstered bench running along the walls, he idly caressed the smooth leather, sensitive fingers feeling the crinkles due to wear. _He enjoyed beautiful things. He had always done so, relishing the finer things in life. Good food, wine, sex and beauty in general._

While waiting for the food to arrive, the waitress poured champagne for the adults, and little Eileen, sitting by his side, got apple juice. 

“In a tall glass, _just_ like theirs!” the pretty little girl instructed the busty waitress sternly, black brows furrowing over her large, dark eyes, to the woman’s poorly hidden amusement. 

The dimples on the waitress’ face deepened when she bent a little too close to Voldemort to fill his glass. 

“Happy birthday, birthday boy,” the woman said huskily, giving him a wink. 

He smiled back at her, letting his eyes trail suggestively over her face, dipping down into her cleavage, making the woman blush as she withdrew. 

His mother looked exasperated, but his father looked simply amused. _Though they had never known the extent of his fairly promiscuous sex life in his years as their son, they had an inkling of it. In recent years, during holidays, they had met their share of girls on the stairs in the morning, girls never to be seen again. Now, he couldn’t help wonder if Hermione’s concern perhaps had been more than a mother’s worry for her son._ The thought made a frisson of excitement run through him, followed by a deep disgust. _Sweet Merlin, she was his mother, and yet…_

“Happy birthday,” they all said, lifting their glasses to a toast, and he nodded with a practised smile. _How old was he, by now? Sweet Merlin, he was approaching 89!_ With a small shudder, he accepted the gifts. One of them was an old notebook, and Hermione said nervously: “It’s for you, from … you,” she added with a whisper, looking at Eileen, who was doing her favourite activity: People-watching, staring at the other guests in the restaurant, a small smile on her face. 

Then the little girl turned to him, eyes glittering and sharp, and said: “When are you leaving, Tam?” 

He lifted an eyebrow rose in surprise, and Voldemort glanced at Hermione and Severus, but they both looked shocked. 

“How did you know I’m going away?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

“I’ve always known, you would have to,” the little girl said simply. Then she added: “I found it all in her mind,” pointing at Hermione. 

There was a shocked gasp from the witch, but Severus said smoothly: “I’ve told you, sweetheart, it’s wrong to peek into people’s minds. You are a natural Legilimens, and you can’t just go visiting minds like this. It’s rude.” 

“How come I never saw anything?” he asked, furrowing his brows in displeasure, giving Hermione his trademark glare. 

Hermione shrugged, thought she looked pale. “You put a block in my mind, to keep yourself from finding out. I thought it blocked anyone else too, but … obviously not.” 

Xxxx

Sometime after the lobsters were devoured and the oysters slurped up, he excused himself to go to the restroom. That waitress he’d been eyeing followed him eagerly, after a brief nod from him.

She was a pretty one, with long, blonde hair and big breasts, and she was all too willing to join the handsome young man in the men’s room. Well inside, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and she panted. 

“You’re such a hot guy,” she whimpered, “I’m normally a good girl, I don’t do things like this…” 

“ _Sure_ you don’t,” he said, grinning into her mouth, as he fondled her hard nipples. Rucking up that tight, black pencil skirt she wore, he just pulled her underwear to the side, touching a dripping pussy.

“You’re so ready for my cock,” he grunted, lifting one of her legs, before hoisting her up to his hips. The girl never noticed him discreetly opening the front of his trousers with his magic, because she whined loudly as he slammed inside her. Taking her against the wall, pounding into her as she moaned, orgasming on his cock, was …. ok. _If this had happened yesterday, it would have been perfectly good sex. But now, he knew better. Sex with Hermione, his mother, was due to their binding from the fifties infinitely better and more satisfying. This was just a pale copy of the real thing, and it wouldn’t do in the long run._

When he came after several minutes of thrusting, it was quite acceptable, but nothing more, The discrete Contraception spell was barely noticeable to the Muggle girl, and he gave her a kiss to distract her before tucking himself back in. 

As he slid into his seat, getting ready for dessert, Eileen crawled up into his lap. On the other side of the table, Hermione and Severus froze. He could read Hermione’s mind as easily as the restaurant menu in front of him, and she was … terrified. _Terrified for what would happen to any child that climbed into Lord Voldemort’s lap, and desperate to keep her daughter safe._

Voldemort huffed. _They obviously thought he’d turn on his little sister, harming her or at least turning her away._

But he wouldn't. _Eileen was a part of his life, and he had always enjoyed being her hero, her big brother. The one she looked up to, the one she came to for all her troubles. By now, he knew that he’d never experienced such love, adoration and respect from anyone, not in this new life, and certainly not in his earlier life. It felt … good … to know someone trusted him so completely._

“I’m going to miss you,” the little girl whispered, black ringlets curling adorably on her shoulders, and she hid her pretty little face against his chest. 

He rested his chin on the top of her head, humming softly. _He could never have sex with his own mother again, it was much too distasteful. Thankfully, there was a slightly more acceptable solution. It wasn’t widely known, but the spell that had bound him to Hermione in the fifties was generational. He was bound to her line. Anyone from her line would satisfy his needs._

“Oh, I’ll come back for you,” he told Eileen, stroking his little sister’s bare arms, comforting her. “You can be sure of that. I will never leave you alone. You just need to grow older while I travel the world.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so… it’s still very, very squicky. 
> 
> I CAN’T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS! 
> 
> *horrified at self, slams laptop shut, goes to huddle in the shower, chanting: I’m a dirty girl, I’m a bad girl, I shouldn’t write things like this*


End file.
